


under our blue skies

by rain_at_dawn



Category: SHINee
Genre: Action, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Horror, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers, Survival, Zombie AU, with brief appearances by TaeMinKey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_at_dawn/pseuds/rain_at_dawn
Summary: In the midst of a world gripped with fear, Jinki's life takes an interesting turn when a stranger lands in his arms.
Relationships: Kim Jonghyun/Lee Jinki | Onew
Comments: 26
Kudos: 28
Collections: Winter of SHINee





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the Winter of SHINee mods for giving me the opportunity to break out of my comfort zone with this prompt. I'd also like to thank the original prompter for giving me so many tropes to work with and really hope you enjoy the fic.

_ I would never blame a human creature for feeling lonely. _

\- Alias Grace; Margaret Atwood.

* * *

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

As far a cautionary lie went, this one was subtle enough to pass for harmless. A friend of Jinki’s had once warned him about such lies. 

_ “Never take comfort at face value.” _

That friend was one of the lucky ones to escape soon after the contagion broke out. The last Jinki had heard from him was a text urging him to do the same; that was before the lie stretched thin enough over social media to allow the first holes to appear in the government’s story. If the virus wasn’t dangerous enough to be deemed a threat, then why was Busan still under quarantine? And Pohang? And why had no one heard from the Gwanju residents? Or for that matter, Jeju?

‘Nothing’ could be taken for ‘anything’ at this point. It was just the way one looked at it. Was the rumor of an epidemic a cover-up for the latest election tampering or an exaggeration created for the sole purpose of funneling precious taxpayer funding into whatever aid scheme so-and-so provincial officials conveniently cooked up in time to reap the new year’s dividends? Jinki would glance over these op-eds in the papers and file snippets of information away for whenever he needed an opinion if pressed for one.

It was always a challenge to hang in the middle; keeping a balance between what was expected of him by his parents, his friends and at work. Just as he’d finally grasped what he thought was a semblance of order in his world, the rest of it began to wither. It was the only right way to describe it: on the mornings he awoke early to take in the sunrise – as advised by several self-help blogs – he walked out of his studio apartment and was met with the sight of drooping flowers in his neighbors’ plastic pots. In the outdoor marketplace, there was a chorus of quavery-voiced ahjummas lamenting over their rotting vegetables. The news reported lower crop yields than the numbers registered last year.

But there was nothing to worry about. The daily bulletins were increasing in frequency, feverish in their assurances. Times were getting tough, but they’d been tough before. The nation must prove itself tougher, that was all.

It was fortunate that Jinki belonged to a generation so used to compartmentalizing. Their minds were applied to work when needed and to rationalizing the needs of said minds as per the applicable desirable criteria for successful living. Success meant a roof over one’s head and food in the belly at least. If mass education had left them with any impressions at all, it was at least that the prospect of either of these provisions should offer them some semblance of happiness.

It was small things, Jinki surmised to himself, that made up for the illusion of the life he was supposed to lead. Like sugar in his morning tea. The rare sight of a real smile in full bloom on a cute boy’s face despite his own monotony. The full moon when it could be seen past the heavy clouds. The sun as it was, always there, always constant and true, even when he buried himself in his sheets to escape the new day it ushered in.

It was the small things that would keep him going when the disaster fell.

* * *

The sun now slid in through a crack in the boarded-up windows of the warehouse. The night before, he’d sat outside on the gravel with his back against the wall, staring up at the sky. It had been clear enough to count a few stars, maybe even a planet. He remembered that Mercury was the one that appeared with a pale yellow hue; he’d learnt that from a book, one of the texts assigned for recommended reading in elementary school. He supposed he should’ve made greater efforts to retain more skills like how and where to place constellations so he would be able to decipher his current whereabouts. At least he knew he was still in Korea. His hometown lay miles – weeks, months? – behind him. 

In the time since the outbreak, he wondered if he’d been as far as everywhere he could’ve sought refuge in. The warehouse was one of many abandoned buildings he’d stopped by to rest his aching feet and close his eyes for a few hours of fitful sleep on the way to Seoul. His living conditions would have turned the hairs on his mother’s head grey; he would often open his eyes just to stop thinking of her, except when his mind allowed him no leeway in escape from the slightest brush with memory.

The sunlight that beat against the windows looked molten in the dark. It was the type of light that made him want to turn away and roll onto his other side, right in time to soften the blow from remembering how much his mother loved mornings like these. Right when he would draw the covers over his head, she would be drawing open his bedroom curtains and nagging at him to not waste the last few days of his vacation. It was never without a smile in her voice.

He had to brace himself before he could sit up on his bedroll. It was just a bad start; he’d gotten through plenty of them and there would be plenty more ahead.  _ It can’t be helped _ , his father would have said,  _ don’t dwell too much on it _ . Another memory that lit up all the darkest parts of his thoughts; it hurt nonetheless. 

_ Come now _ , he said to himself, the voice only in his own head.  _ This is the easy part _ .

At least he knew he was right about that, along with three more things, the second being that things had already gotten this bad. The third was that they may well likely get worse. 

The fourth was the one he kept hidden underneath all the stress of his daily survival. It had a name, but no form. It was small enough to mark its presence whenever he happened upon a fellow wanderer to exchange information with:  _ where did you come from? Where are you headed? How many did you encounter in-between? _

They would continue like this for a while; Jinki had even traveled with a few for a couple of days, taking advantage of their pooled rations and experiences before separating at whatever junction between towns, each to their own reasons for doing so. Most of them had been men, their names and ages scattered carelessly once he’d taken leave of them. One had even reminded him of the long-departed friend who probably now spent his time pouring over the warnings he’d left Jinki with, probably shaking his head wryly at Jinki’s foolishness for choosing Seoul even after all this.

Not a day had gone by without Jinki questioning his reasons for staying. Without his parents and the security he’d taken for granted in their arms since he was a child, he was dangerously unmoored. Each night, he would always take in the supposed heavens above the dead powerlines as an excuse to look away from the wreckage of himself. 

The time between sunrise and sundown passed unsettlingly slow and monotonous, except for the occasional sign of trouble. Jinki had had one close encounter with one of those things – its eyes curdled milky white, brimming with pained hunger – and he intended to leave that as his last through whatever means necessary. It meant a lot of doubling back into narrow side-paths at the slightest sound of shuffling footsteps carrying in the wind and avoiding the dark alleys which offered too many possibilities of entrapment. He’d passed by many an empty subway and tramline, almost giving in to temptation to break into the station’s control room and putting his engineering degree to use by working out how to gain access to one of the trains on the Seoul line. With a little luck and ingenuity, he pictured the chances of flying over the sea of abandoned buildings and streets, possibly shaving days off his journey.

He was doing it now, as he neared the entrance of Yongsun station. His mind shifted into the familiar, achingly pleasant hum of mechanical preparation. He’d scavenged enough tools which were stored in his knapsack: a hammer and screwdriver to break the lock – if there was still such a thing – of the control room door, then perhaps the pliers to deactivate any alarm systems in place. Sound was what attracted a horde of those things; he would have to act quickly.

Spurred by the momentary burst of inspiration, Jinki quickened his pace on his way inside the station, hoisting himself over the defunct turnstile. As soon as he landed on the other side, the sense of unease seeped back up through the soles of his feet and along his spine. The dimness of the interior was a stark, forbidding contrast to daylight behind him. He had a torch inside his knapsack which he rarely used so as to conserve the batteries; he also had a hunting knife, offered to him by a former traveling companion who’d been fleeing his military base after it was overrun. 

The same companion had offered him a pistol before the knife; he’d tried to persuade Jinki with the logic that it took them down easily from a safer distance while his eyes flitted to the strip of gauze wound around Jinki’s left forearm with a strip of his own shirt. With or without the image of the waxy, sunken face with the pleading, hungry eyes rising unbidden in his head, Jinki would have still refused it.

The knife was strapped securely to his side, at his belt, warmed by the sun and his own body heat in its sheath. Jinki had yet to use it.

He’d taken the first step towards a potentially fatal decision; the next few took him further and further away from that thought. He edged closer to the side of the long hallway that led towards the platform and continued towards the darkness. At the head of the immobile elevator, he unclipped the torch from its clasp on one of the knapsack side-pockets and switched it on before making his way downstairs.

He made sure to tread lightly, keeping the torch beam trained on the patch of space gradually emerging directly before him. As he took in the neon yellow painted arrows on the floor and corroded metal seats fixed near the ticket counters, the relief grew more palpable. He probed further with the torch; the desire to call out came and went. He couldn’t stand the thought of being mocked in his own voice. And anyway, it was sound that attracted them.

A few minutes must have passed as he walked around the platform, carefully examining the nooks and crevasses lest he should be caught off guard later in the midst of the task he had planned. But like the entire world above him, the place was deathly quiet.

Now that the stillness engulfed him, he felt his mind settle into a more mundane concern: he had no clue as to where a subway control room would be located. 

Also, he was starving. The packet of dried pulses was no substitute for his mother’s cooking.

His vision swarmed. It had been a while since he last wept. Now wasn’t the time; it wasn’t right. He’d been so foolish to come down here. It must’ve cost him a mile of travel above-ground at least. 

There was no more time to lose. He tried to calm himself by wrapping his arms around himself, his right hand rubbing over the wad of gauze over the wound on his left arm. Was this how it started? Disintegration? Would he end up crumbling in the dark like this, at the very end? 

He would cling to it, whatever he had right now, even if it was bitter grief. Nothing else felt as real, whether his tears dried under the sun or if they flowed free under cover of night. There was nowhere to run from it, nowhere to bury it. The wet streams that began to trickle down his chin was its own comfort; he knew they had sprung from a place which had lain numb for too long.

For a moment, the silence was what it was: something to be filled. He poured his tears into it, the sobs easily rising from his chest as he sank to crouch on the floor.  _ Doesn’t matter where it goes, just as long as it’s out _ , his father would’ve said while patting his back.

_ We’ll be right here for you, _ he heard his mother’s voice again, and he wanted nothing more than for the world to just fall away so that he would have nowhere else to go but back into his head, where memories were still sweet. Just for a moment.

But the footsteps began.

They were not rushed, but they sounded loud enough to drive the dreams out of his head and pull him back underground. It was a learned reflex from learning how to survive; sounds were either a signal or warning. Jinki had to pay attention before making a split-second decision.

A door crashing made him spring right up to his feet; this couldn’t be good. He gripped the torch tighter with the plan of getting out of the station and running for his life already set in motion. Then, there was something else:

“WAIT!”

It was a voice unlike any of the others he replayed in his head. It was a stranger’s. There was someone in here; Jinki wasn’t alone. It cried out again, despairing, and Jinki tried to gauge its direction using the torchlight. The beam flickered as his hand trembled; he began to feel for the knife. 

Another cry for help, much closer but nowhere around on the platform. Jinki backed further away from what looked like the empty track; probably time to run now. 

The hand which gripped the torch shook so hard that the beam swung wildly and it was by sheer chance that he finally caught sight of the moving figure. He trained the light over and above the tracks, up the wall on the opposite side until he found the railing. And the boots which had stilled to a halt. 

“Please help me!”

Up went the beam to reveal a pair of dark jeans spattered with dirt and a grimy looking belt. The rest of the body bent towards the light and Jinki took in the eyes that blinked rapidly, at the messy fringe that almost obscured them. Even from this distance, he could see how dark the eyes were; it was human. 

The escape forgotten, Jinki ran towards him.

“How many?” He calls out, urgency overcoming the necessity of staying quiet. They were already in deep shit. “Where?”

“I don’t know!” 

That was enough for Jinki. He’d already heard the approaching shuffling footfall. They weren’t fast, but they were persistent and once they had their prey cornered – 

He jumped down into the pit where the tracks were set and leapt across them so that he was able to stand right below where the figure was perched against the railing on a built-in walkway. A quick examination had him realizing that there was another entrance to the subway built on another level above the platform he’d entered. Perhaps the station was built into an embankment; he’d been so carried away with his control room plan that he’d ignored such details.

“I…” The voice was cut off as a throaty hiss pierced through the darkness. Jinki’s heart began to pound in his ears; there was no time to delay.

He quickly shrugged off his knapsack and drew closer under the railing. There was roughly fifteen feet between him and his fellow survivor, who seemed paralyzed with fear. Jinki knew what he had to do. 

“Oh no, no, please no…” Jinki heard the voice plead above him as he turned the beam away from his place on the walkway. “Please! Please don’t leave…”

“I’m not leaving.” Jinki assured him. It was definitely a male. Definitely human.

He placed the torch on the ground with the light directed towards himself, then stood right underneath the walkway, where he was sure the other man could see him. Jinki spread his arms towards him, as if it were an embrace he was offering.

“Quick,” was all he said. 

An eerie moan made the man turn his head around for a second. When he looked back to Jinki, his face was set.

Jinki braced himself.

The man slid his legs out through the gap beneath the railing, followed by the rest of his torso which he twisted to the side to allow for the bag slung over his back. There was another moment’s hesitation – a prayer perhaps – before he forced himself off the walkway, dropping into where the paltry beam of light pointed.

When Jinki caught him, they both went down hard. In the midst of the tangle of limbs, Jinki smelt sweat and earth, familiar and daunting.

* * *

It wasn’t until the sun had sunk a good distance below its highest point at noon that Jinki was able to fully take in the sight of Kim Jonghyun. Before that, they’d put their hours into better use by placing as much distance between themselves and the unseen horde that had managed to besiege Jonghyun at the station. Even when they’d slowed down at the welcome sight of an abandoned mini-mart, the minutes were eaten up by taking stock of their individual provisions – three cans of preserved meat stew and two of kimchi for Jinki, three packets of dried fish and a few stale biscuits for Jonghyun – and a quick examination for injuries. 

Jonghyun must be a few inches shorter than him; the arms that came through the sleeves of the oversized black t-shirt he wore were tanned, with a scattering of bruises and scratches on each. These looked harmless enough, nothing like the bite Jinki had received two weeks ago. Now that one was the beginning of something; Jinki tried not to dwell on it.

But it was something that had to be tended to, to be confronted near daily. The gauze around Jinki’s wound had come loose, owing to one of the t-shirt strips keeping it in place having been torn off in the scramble for escape. He’d felt Jonghyun eying it; he kept his own attention fixed on traversing the shelves of dry goods. 

“It’s bleeding,” Jonghyun spoke up in that same tone he’d dropped his name with; a voice that drifted between high and low. “You can’t just leave it exposed like that.”

There was nothing but concern underlying it, but Jinki couldn’t take him seriously in a time and place like this. The damage was done and as each day since that encounter had passed, destiny had slipped one mask off the other, mocking irony beneath the steady stream of disasters that seemed to calmly befall his life as it began again with each sunrise. Jonghyun must know this as well, if not in the same exact words; each survivor lived their life in parallel to each other.

Jonghyun was already making his way towards him. Jinki drew in his arms and kept it clasped over his chest. He tried to make a fast escape into the frozen goods aisle, but Jonghyun had already dodged around him and headed him off before he could change lanes.

“I could help.” His voice has turned harder, though not unkind. Just… stubborn. “Let me.”

Jinki always chose his battles; this wasn’t one of them. He let Jonghyun pull his arm away and lift the gauze over the infected skin. It’s late afternoon, so it’s not bright enough to highlight the worst of it. Yet the dried blood around the bite shines sickly; Jonghyun must see that much.

Jonghyun didn’t say another word. Until:

“Let’s fix this.”

Not the words Jinki was expecting, but he supposed he could humor Jonghyun. A bit.

He sauntered behind Jonghyun as they wandered about the mart, mentally taking stock of what could be salvaged, divided and carried forward for a long trek by foot. Cans of beans, potted meats if they were lucky, and if they really struck gold, it would definitely be bottled water. Jinki’s eyes wandered away from Jonghyun, to the snack holders which held bouquets of what he knew to be expired chocolate bars. The temptation to grab one was no less stronger.

“Here!”

Jonghyun had struck better than gold; in one of his hands was a bottle of vodka and in the other was a bundle of dish cloths.

“Come here.” He said as he slid down to sit cross-legged in front of a banner propped on its metal stand, which bore an image of a man Jinki vaguely recalled seeing before. Perhaps a male celebrity from a beer commercial. It probably explained the heavy sense of déjà vu that crept up on him as he made to sit down opposite Jonghyun. 

He looked up into Jonghyun’s face and that’s when it hit him: this was a memory from a life lived long ago, when he and a bunch of friends had converged into the cheapest bar they could afford once they had all attained legal age. They would not be nineteen forever, but on that night, forever could have easily been encapsulated in a few hours doused with soju bombs. Jinki remembered flinging his jacket into a corner somewhere and looking across the table with a conspiratorial grin at the man opposite him. It hadn’t been Jonghyun then, but it could be now.

Before he could stop the collision of his past and present, Jonghyun did just that for him by uncapping the bottle of vodka, twisting the corner of one of the cloths into a ball which he dipped into the mouth of the bottle and reaching for Jinki’s arm.

Jinki flinched at Jonghyun’s touch. “Don’t…”

“You needed to get it cleaned at some point. Or you might’ve contracted tetanus.”

Jinki inhaled, holding back a bitter laugh. There were things worse than tetanus out there and one of those things had already gotten to him before any other disease. “It’s too late for that.”

“You can’t say for sure.” Jonghyun’s grip on his arm wa too firm for Jinki to keep trying to resist. He gave in and let the full length of his arm straighten. 

“Do you like flowers?”

What a question. Jinki didn’t bother hiding the strain of annoyance in his voice when he let Jonghyun know that.

Jonghyun didn’t seem to be taking it personally. “The alcohol’s going to sting when it touches the flesh. Why not focus on something more positive in the meantime?”

“Are you a nurse?”

“Nope. Are you?”

Jinki couldn’t argue with that logic. Jonghyun had already begun dabbing at the blood crusted around the bite; in a matter of seconds, he would have to apply more pressure to get the pus out of the hole in the flesh. 

“I don’t know anything about flowers.”

Jonghyun nodded and hummed, brushing it off easily. “Neither do I. But I do like roses.”

“I know what those are.”

“That’s good.” The corner of Jonghyun’s mouth twitched upward. It had been so long since Jinki himself had smiled, let alone anyone else he’s met on the road. A small comfort.

Though cracked from the dry air and, no doubt, lack of hydration, Jonghyun’s mouth was full and plush. The way he pursed his lips together as he switched to a clean patch of the cloth to swab a particularly stubborn speckle of dirt on the pale skin made Jinki think of cherries. To stop himself from falling too deep in that thought, Jinki examined the rest of Jonghyun in silence. His hair was dark brown, matted from lack of a shower and grown long enough for the black roots to be visible. His eyebrows were black too, furrowed in concentration. His jawline was sharp and well-defined. His neck was tanned, led to a pair of collarbones which jutted defiantly at the base and a set of broad shoulders underneath his shirt.

The first twinge of pain was an almost welcome distraction. Jinki closed his eyes and looked away from Jonghyun’s face. 

* * *

Mini-marts, rundown convenience stores and even better, the chain supermarkets were oases in times like these. The two of them would settle down here for tonight, rest and recoup their expended energy before picking up the rest of their journeys tomorrow. When Jonghyun had asked him where he was headed, Jinki replied, “Seoul.”

“I’ll go there too, then.”

Jinki looked down at his injured arm, wrapped in a torn-off square of clean towel, and felt a rush of guilt. “You don’t have to. I’ve managed by myself this far.”

“I want to. My family’s home was empty when I reached it.” Jonghyun faltered as he said this, but Jinki still recognized the echo of desolation. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“And now you want to try Seoul?”

“I guess so.”

This seemed fair. 

It had gone dark outside as the sun slinked down below the skyline of empty buildings. It felt darker inside the mini-mart; Jinki could barely discern Jonghyun’s outline across from him. As was probably the case across the entire country, there was no electricity. Their torches would only be used in emergencies. They had bolted the main door as well as the back entrance which led into a small office, and stacked crates full of soju against them as a precautionary measure.

Heading to bed in these times meant unrolling a sleeping-bag or bedroll in any closed-off shelter one could find before lying to sleep with a weapon for a bedfellow. Jinki had grown accustomed to going about such preparations in pitch darkness; he guessed that Jonghyun should be well-versed in the same.

Just to be sure: “I’m going to sleep now. You should too.”

Jinki could hear unzipping and rustling; Jonghyun must be retrieving his own sleeping gear.

“You have a bedroll or something, don’t you?”

“I have a blanket.”

Jinki exhaled softly in disbelief. “How’d you manage? It gets really cold at night.”

“I manage just fine.”

It had been ten hours since Jinki had met the man and all he knew about Jonghyun was that there was no point in convincing him out of his own stubbornness. With that in mind, he took up his own bedroll and slid himself in the general direction from where he’d heard Jonghyun’s voice. The surprised sounds came from very near.

“What are you do – ”

“You can sleep on my bedroll.”

“If you think this is paying me back for doing your arm, I don’t need it. You’re the one who needs to rest well.”

“I’ve slept a lot rougher than this.”

“I’m sure. So sleep on your own bedroll while you can.”

Jinki would have burst into laughter, if he wanted to, if he hadn’t thought better of it. It was like arguing with himself. 

“Okay,” He conceded to Jonghyun. “But I’ll sleep next to you. Shared body heat will help us get through to the morning.”

There was a pause, until Jonghyun finally agreed. “All right.”

After some fumbling around for adequate space, maneuvering their limbs so as to avoid bumping knees and elbows, they each settle on their sides, backs facing each other.

Jinki knew he was exhausted; he’d had to subsist on one rationed meal and a few gulps of water before they had reached the mart. On any other night, he would have collapsed unconscious in a few blinks and been none the wiser to an encroaching attack from the shadows.

His mind had come alive now; it buzzed with things that reminded him of nostalgia. Something about today had unwound a spool of feelings he’d kept tightly nestled beneath his everyday concerns for survival and safety, as much as he tried to keep them quiet. After all, they had nowhere else to go except inside his own head.

“You didn’t tell me your name.” Jonghyun spoke, making him startle inside his bedroll. “You’d normally do that at least before going to bed with someone.”

A flood of heat filled Jinki’s cheeks. He was blushing; it had been a while. 

“Sorry.”

“That’s an unusual name.”

“My name’s Lee Jinki.”

His name rolled off his tongue differently; it didn’t feel like a transaction. He felt like he’d cast away a piece of himself, a penny into a stream, expecting nothing in return but the way it sounded to the one who caught it.

“Lee Jinki, thank you for catching me when I jumped.” He can hear Jonghyun turning over to his other side. “I mean it. I’m sorry I did more damage to your arm.”

Jinki had been hurt in ways that went deeper than flesh, more than what an apology could relieve. But he accepted Jonghyun’s words with a silent nod which neither of them could see. 

Jonghyun fell asleep soon afterwards; Jinki could tell by the sound of his breathing as it slowed down and evened out. People sounded nothing like themselves when they were sleeping; each exhale or snore was a product of biology at work, nothing more. Jinki still listened for Jonghyun’s breaths in the dark, wondering if he should count them to fall asleep.

He didn’t know anything about flowers, that was true. But his mother had loved sunflowers. And hyacinths. And the little white ones that looked like tiny cotton-swabs. He didn’t know if Jonghyun would have liked to know that while cleaning his wound with vodka; he should’ve tried actually saying that to him and maybe he would’ve learnt if Jonghyun knew what those were.

It didn’t seem fair that the last he’d heard of Jonghyun’s voice was wrapped in an apology. It didn’t seem right; if a voice could have a color, all Jinki could see of Jonghyun’s was light as he closed his eyes, replaying it. 


	2. ii

ORESTES

_ Where have I seen you before? _

MOIRA

_ In a dream. _

ORESTES

_ A thousand years ago. _

\- Dreams of Clytemnestra; Dacia Maraini

* * *

The summer heat lingered in the strangest ways. Jinki could go hours under the illusion that it was still autumn, until it was noon and the breeze died as soon as the sun rose to its peak. He didn’t mind it as much as Jonghyun appeared to.

“Your shirt’s soaked!” Jinki heard him call out from where he trailed behind. “Own up, you’re sweating!”

Nothing about Jinki’s pacing had struck him as brisk. It was the same pace at which he’d been moving so far and anyone who’d joined him learned to compromise on the way forward. 

“Yah! Lee Jinki! Who’re you running from? Seoul won’t appear any faster than if you slowed down for a bit.”

Jinki bit his tongue. It hadn’t been too long before that he’d let Jonghyun know that he was free to forge his own path whenever he felt like it. If he did want to stick with Jinki, that was the only thing he got to decide on. Jinki had a promise to keep and the time at which he could gradually hold on to it was being cut to the quick with every wasted second waiting for Jonghyun to catch up.

It wouldn’t hurt to remind him again. Jinki slowed down momentarily, just enough for Jonghyun to properly hear him when he said, “I can’t keep doing this for you.”

“I wasn’t asking for a favor. We’re in this together.”

“Adapt a little then. If you can’t, I can’t be making any more allowances at this rate.”

“Allow – ” Jonghyun huffed around it as his tongue caught up with his brain, while his legs still fought to catch up with Jinki’s. “ – ances? You are such a humanitarian.”

There was no need to argue with that; the man Lee Jinki used to be had perished as soon as his parents’ dying calls arose from the first nightmares he’d succumbed to. Maybe that was the Lee Jinki who wanted to talk about roses with Jonghyun on their first night together, the one who’d wasted an entire night’s sleep with daydreams about the color of his voice.

Now that he was struggling behind him, that same voice was a ragged shadow of itself. Jonghyun was trying to make himself heard despite that.

“Still can’t…”

Jinki started as the hand grabbed his. It had become instinct now, to startle and either flee or fight. He had so often resorted to the former that the will for the latter had nearly atrophied, shrunken from what had transpired the last time he’d attempted to defend himself. But it was only Jonghyun right next to him.

Kim Jonghyun, almost buckling from the afternoon heat and the weight of his knapsack, just short of collapsing if not for his hand in Jinki’s. It was a desperate grip, pleading for respite. As Jinki listened to his quivery breaths, he wondered what had come upon him at nightfall, how he almost composed an entire ode to the voice that kept him awake, even as its owner had slept soundly beside him.

“My God…” Jonghyun wheezed over and over, as if in actual prayer as he swayed to and fro, buoyed by Jinki’s fingers interlaced in his. “I just want… my… my…”

Jinki knew what he was reaching for.

_ ‘My family.’ _

It was the sole reason Jonghyun had returned from that stupid business trip to Tokyo. He hadn’t even wanted to debut in Japan in the first place, not when his dreams lay behind the tiny, stuffy recording studios in Seoul, whose streets he’d serenaded for hours as a busking student. The only reason he’d taken up his agency’s plan was that he needed the bigger paycheck for his troubles.

_ ‘The roof on my mother’s house leaks in winter. Also, there’s no lock on the backdoor. I thought that if I could at least end up affording to buy her a bigger, better house, she wouldn’t have to lie awake in fear of burglars.’ _

News of the outbreak had reached Japanese news two days after Seoul declared a national state of emergency. Jonghyun remembered that it was a Sunday when he’d seen the article squashed at the bottom of the paper’s second last page and ignored his manager’s arguments to stay put. All flights into and outbound from Korea had been suspended, which meant he’d had to withdraw the last of his savings to bribe a ferry to smuggle him in through Busan. What followed the sea journey and the discovery of his mother’s empty home was up to Jinki’s guessing, for which he only had the wave of sadness that crossed Jonghyun’s face to go on.

Jinki kept looking anywhere except into Jonghyun’s face as he waited for him to calm down and get a hold of the situation. His gaze had a fine time waltzing along from the grey pavement littered with refuse on which they stood to the barren boutiques and cafes that had once bustled with idling shoppers on a day like this. Back when Lee Jinki had a life, he’d wasted it wandering about neighborhoods like these, sometimes loitering with an equally aimless companion who’d nattered on about the women in dyed hair and skin-tight mini-skirts, about which one had worked at which hair or nail salon, the ones who’d recently broken up with so-and-so and therefore, newly ripe and available, ready to pluck.

Those had been foolish times; Jinki felt more so when he knew that he would never reach for any of those women’s hands, with their plum-tinted nails and their lips glossed like berries. Jinki preferred hands like his own; the male type.

Jonghyun’s were larger than his, enough so that they could’ve easily slipped over Jinki’s when they were clasped. They were tanned like the rest of him, thickly veined, green and blue stretches which bulged from exertion. Jonghyun’s hand was a fleshy thing that seemed to weigh as hot as a heart in the well of Jinki’s palm.

Jinki couldn’t take much more of it.

He shook it first. When that got no response, he squeezed. 

“I’m…” Jonghyun wheezed. “…okay. It’s nothing.”

It certainly wasn’t. Jinki pulled him aside to sit down on the doorstep of an empty bakery. He switched back to avoiding Jonghyun’s face when it tilted up to lean against the dusty door-frame, choosing to fixate on the name embossed on the glass in what used to be cursive English:  _ Peterpan _ . There was a pun in there somewhere; Jinki kept it to himself.

He wasn’t sure how long he could let this break go on for. In a couple of hours, the sun would descend further along, dragging the length of the building shadows with it. That would be bad; too many opportunities to be caught off-guard.

“Don’t your legs give you hell sometimes?” 

Jinki let Jonghyun’s question float between them, hoping the breeze would pick up and scatter the words into some distant recess. When it did, it blew dust into his eyes, but the silence was still full of the wake left behind Jonghyun’s words.

As if he knew his first question was dumb filler, Jonghyun began again with something else: “I can’t remember the last time I heard birdsong. It’s like they got away in time.”

For Jonghyun’s sake, Jinki said he hoped so. 

To fill in the rest of the quiet, Jinki forced his thoughts onto preparations for tonight. Most of the surrounding stores had been barricaded by their owners before being abandoned to the elements. If they wouldn’t be able to break in for shelter, they’d have to build their own outdoors. If it got colder past sunset, Jinki wondered if a fire would be practical. He’d need something to contain it, or maybe they could huddle behind one of the large garbage containers which could buffer against the wind – 

“How far off is Seoul again?” Jonghyun not-quite-asked in a tone Jinki knew didn’t need an answer. From the onset of his journey alone, it had been a question that danced on the edge of his nightmares. On the nights when he fell deep into his sadness, it became a taunt. 

In-between the cracks on the pavement were patches of grass, oddly green in spite – or because? – of their environment. Weeds always had a way of surviving when flowers – and their caretakers – couldn’t.

“Let’s not think too much about that.” He told Jonghyun finally. “All I’ve had to go by are signboards and whatever direction people moving away from Seoul pointed me to.”

“Why leave Seoul at all when that’s where the military stronghold is?”

“Same as you. People looking for their families.”

Jonghyun did that humming thing again, the same little noise he’d made when they talked about flowers the first day they met. Try as he might, Jinki couldn’t find it in himself to forget that sound. It just meant that Jonghyun had heard him, a gentle acknowledgement. 

“What are you looking for, Lee Jinki?”

Another question that haunted him, but the way Jonghyun spoke it, it felt safe to answer. 

“A purpose.”

From a sidelong glance, he saw Jonghyun nod, as if it made perfect sense. “You think they could fix your arm too?”

“Maybe.”

They both knew by now that it was barely the arm that mattered; it was what had sunk in further, the infection harbored in Jinki’s bloodstream. Jinki hadn’t come across anyone else at this stage of infection, not unless they were long gone and taken over by the parasitic lifeform that controlled the body left behind. He knew it would be a waiting game.

The breeze died again and to his surprise, it was Jonghyun who stood up first. He turned to Jinki and extended his hand: “Sorry for sidetracking you.”

Another apology. Jinki let that one go too, just thankful that the voice was there at all.

* * *

They decided to make camp on a small hill in a park on the outskirts of town. It was always a risk to sleep outdoors, so they would do that in shifts. Jonghyun immediately volunteered to stay up first.

“I don’t sleep much at night anyway. Never have.”

That explained the shadows under his eyes. Jinki hadn’t asked about it, only taken note of them as he’d done with the rest of Jonghyun’s face. Just things to note, not to draw upon. If Jinki found him nice to look at, it was just in comparison to everything else around them. Nothing more.

Still, he turned over on his bedroll to face away from Jonghyun. A sliver of the moon gleamed in the distance, its façade crackling through the branches of the tree that grew over them. He’d warned Jonghyun not to make any noise or attract attention. It was going to be a long night.

He closed his eyes, listening. It had been nearly twenty or so years since he’d last listened for birdsong; he must have been a child at play, pretending to hunt for wolves on one of those nights he’d gone camping with his parents. He’d had to make do with frogs instead. Today and tonight, and the ones that would follow, held nothing but vacuums. He thought he would have gotten used to it.

Silence apart, he reminded himself that he didn’t exist in a void, at least for the time being. There was another warm body next to his, inches away, face turned towards keeping the scraggly little fire they’d started with flint and wastepaper bits. Jinki could easily picture the weak flames battling for life amidst the slightest draft. It would only get worse in the days to come.

Out of the hours that pass, the ones after which he gently awoke from the sounds of his own dreams were the clearest. It was like one dream feeding into the next, almost like slipping from this world to a mysterious other. If he let his mind wander farther, it felt like it did when he was a child, when the weight of the world was little more than a turn of phrase. 

The hand that stroked his hair as he drifted in and out of sleep felt familiar enough to be comforting, as the voice sung a capella. Of course Jonghyun wouldn’t pay much heed to his warnings; Jinki supposed he should wring some irritation from this, difficult as it was with Jonghyun’s fingers spreading out gently over his hand, open as a flower. The lullaby flowed just as naturally. Up above them, the heavens remained closed.

* * *

Jonghyun wasn’t a survivalist by any means. There was that one time he unknowingly almost bit into a cyanide-coated apple from a pile in the darkened aisle in a deserted grocery; at the beginning of the outbreak, there was a misplaced belief that poisoned food would kill off those things or at the very least, ward them off. Jinki had swiped it away just in time.

“Are you okay?” Jonghyun asked him multiple times throughout each day, racing to catch up behind him. “You’re holding your arm again.”

There was another time that Jinki had spent the latter half of an afternoon pulling glass splinters out of Jonghyun’s knuckles after a close call with a former human. It had been Jonghyun’s idea to smash open a window with his bare hands so they could tumble headfirst out of the permanently closed boutique. Jinki hadn’t thanked him, but didn’t complain when they ran far enough to shelter beneath the outer wall bordering an empty schoolyard. Not a word passed from his lips as he turned over Jonghyun’s hands, looking into the pale, wrinkled palms to make sure he’d cleaned them good.

“Who hurt you?” Jonghyun had asked him in return, reaching for Jinki’s own hands, tangling their fingers. “Me or that thing? I can fix you up too.”

Jinki tried to pull away. It was blessed good luck that they’d gotten away at all; he didn’t want to spoil the moment with his own cuts and grazes. Jonghyun wouldn’t have any of it, which soon formed the gist of how they broke into a gas station to get to the rack of band-aids at the back. Jinki even let Jonghyun select the ones to apply on him; it seemed like thieves could at least afford to be choosers in some cases.

He blinked when Jonghyun settled on the jumbo-sized Doraemon pack and began to rip the packaging open.

“Why.” He barely murmured. 

There was that slow almost-smile of Jonghyun’s again, but with the tip of his tongue licking at the corner. It was red, the blunt tip reminding Jinki of the bottom of a strawberry. 

“Why not?”

“I’m long past pre-school age.”

“How young are you then?”

Jinki felt the side of his mouth twitch. “Twenty nine.”

“Not far off from me then.” Jonghyun replied, not missing a beat. “I’m a ’90 liner.”

Jinki glanced warily at the fist-sized band-aid suspended between Jonghyun’s finger and thumb, Doraemon’s cheesy wide grin mocking him. “I’m from ’89. December.”

“April.” Jonghyun drew closer, mouth stretching in what could pass for weak imitation of the cartoon cat. “Just four months then.  _ Hyung _ .”

The unwelcome heat was back, rising up Jinki’s neck and pouring into his face. He was rooted still enough for Jonghyun to seize his opportunity and slap down the first Doraemon face over a gash on his arm. The rest of the pack followed; pieces of childhood he could practically hear ringing in his ears. 

Jonghyun stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “There. You look great, hyung.”

He was just teasing, Jinki wanted to believe that. But that was something else dancing along the edges of Jonghyun’s smile. It might have been a trick all performers knew how to pull; how else was Jinki supposed to explain that glint in Jonghyun’s eyes that lasted seconds too long for him to believe he’d imagined it.

“Thank you,” was all Jinki could offer in return. It felt so small and pathetic, too weak to withstand the energy around them. 

Jonghyun nodded, then reached for his hand to lead him out into the night. 

* * *

Suppose that Jonghyun changed his mind and wanted to try some place other than Seoul, Jinki found himself brooding, suppose that he just left like the others. 

At this time of the night on his watch, the sky was bruised violet; a hazard of dawn breaking later and later as they felt the first cold snaps of winter in their bones. Jinki’s time alone was spent with Jonghyun asleep by his side, curled up beneath his dirty, worn blanket on Jinki’s bedroll, at Jinki’s insistence. As was routine, Jonghyun stayed up for the first half of the night while Jinki covered the second. 

He didn’t soothe Jonghyun to sleep with hair strokes and lullabies. He didn’t know how to. These were gifts that only Jonghyun seemed to possess. 

_ “Suppose that we reach Seoul.” _ Jonghyun had wondered aloud earlier, before the weight of drowsiness pulled him under.  _ “What are you gonna do next?” _

_ “I haven’t thought that far.” _ Jinki had confessed.

He’d watched Jonghyun roll over to his other side. Maybe he was growing tired of Jinki and his taciturn ways. Jinki didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t a thought he desired to keep company with until morning, but there it was, agitating his mind. 

He reasoned that Jonghyun was the one who offered to travel with him first. Jinki was just… doing him a good turn, even humoring him at times. It was very likely the loneliness that was fighting the logic he’d resolved to build in his pursuit of that promise to survive for as long as he could. So that made it just as likely the reason for Jonghyun choosing to stay with him, day after night. 

Maybe he felt sorry for Jinki and that was all that kept him bound to him. Little wonder, Jinki concluded bitterly.

He refused to look at Jonghyun’s sleeping form as he tried to erase his face from where it had imprinted in his brain. 

* * *

They fell into a routine as the days went on; no small feat, considering the unpredictability of who – and what – they ran into. It was an odd balm to Jinki’s nerves. He found himself looking over at his companion during the quiet moments, wondering if this was all it was to Jonghyun too: to merely exist, breathing in and out in the stillness of the mornings. They rarely, if ever, deviated from the general path to Seoul, unless to scavenge for food in desolate markets or to seek shelter from the increasingly colder nights.

If Jonghyun felt bold, like right now, as he kept pace with Jinki during their hike through the once-bustling neighborhood of Hankyun-dong, he would spout the most innocuous questions.

“How far do you remember back?”

“Back when?” Jinki replied.

“Back since…” Jonghyun puffed his cheeks out, then a stream of air that blew a few strands of his fringe away from his forehead. “It feels like forever, doesn’t it? That’s the worst part. That I’ll forget what things used to be like.”

Jinki kept his eyes locked on the road in front of them. “Things weren’t really perfect back then either.”

“I suppose…”

Jonghyun trailed off, neither in agreement or distaste. Jinki’s thoughts would invariably follow suit, even as his feet propelled him forward, the possibilities in his head tying him to the voice that rose behind him even as they kept their hands to themselves, locked at their sides, poised for the inevitable danger that hung over them.

“Ahh…” He heard Jonghyun murmur as they passed by an empty pre-school. And nothing else. There was no hint at the life he’d lived long before Jinki, that possibly comfortable childhood spent with his mother who fielded all the questions that seemed to springboard off his tongue. Jinki searched his own memories for something to share and the only thing that came up from the dense fuzzy mass was that he used to like jumping in puddles.

It felt too small; too insignificant. The words felt so flimsy as he tried to form them in his mouth. 

“It might rain,” was all he could come up with. 

He heard Jonghyun smile.

“I love rain.”

Then, it seemed to slip, clouded with worry. “But that’s not good, is it?”

“No.” Jinki felt that sounded too curt. He tried again. “Not necessarily.”

“We’d just need to take cover for a while, right?”

“Yes.”

There was the distinct sound of scurrying; Jinki slowed down, allowing Jonghyun to catch up beside him. They were now walking by a carpark, with a few cars left behind to gather dust. Give or take a few more years and that might be all they amounted to, Jinki imagined. He watched Jonghyun slow down to gaze at a blue sedan, then as he approached the driver’s side rearview mirror to smear off the layer of dirt with his fingers. Beneath that, the sight appeared to disgruntle him.

Jonghyun looked back at him when he walked back from the car. As bad as they both looked and smelt, they were at least in this together. This familiar tug at Jinki’s heartstrings brought on another, less welcome, rush of emotion. He looked away from Jonghyun as the first drops began to fall.

* * *

The intervals between rain-showers grew shorter over the next few days. Each time, they ducked into the first empty structures they came across, once even in a broken-down Hyundai two-seater that had been left to erode on the highway. This particular stroke of irony came down hard on Jinki. 

“The first vehicle we successfully break into and it won’t move.” He groaned. Amidst the dust and stench of mold, Jonghyun’s little laugh broke, breathless and closed off behind his fingers.

“What would you have wanted to do, Jinki-yah?” He giggled, a sight that held Jinki’s attention so tightly he might have forgotten any answers he had. “If we had gotten it going? Begin a road-trip, carpool with strangers along the way?”

_ Jinki-yah? _

It took him back to a time, crammed into a car only slightly larger than this one, overflowing with tightly-packed limbs and laughter, he and his friends brimming with soju and beer. The knot in his chest came undone, the lump in his throat gave way to a brittle skeleton of what he’d felt that night. He might’ve been happy then; it might’ve been too late for him to realize that until now.

That was when his tears broke loose. He was in the driver’s seat, braced against the steering wheel, his infected arm throbbing as the raindrops skittled downward on the windows. 

“Jinki-yah…”

The smell of earth grew stronger as Jonghyun drew closer. His arms wrapped around him and an agonizing tremor passed through Jinki when his fingers pushed the hair off his face, when the voice told him it was okay to let it out.

“It’s just us and the rain. Stop pretending for a while, okay?”

Jinki closed his eyes, still struggling to let go of both the past and present as they enveloped him in their fragile embrace.

* * *

Jonghyun made sure they avoided cars once they picked up where they left off on their journey. Jinki no longer strode ahead as they walked; they were as close as their shadows, straying only when exhaustion seeped into their bones. It was slower, no more or less monotonous than it had been earlier at a brisker pace, but it gave Jinki time for his thoughts to settle, usually on the figure that still persisted by his side for some reason he couldn’t begin to fathom.

The shopping mall they came across opened up a minefield of opportunities to distract himself. He could focus on the usual practical tasks of foraging the restaurants for stock that hadn’t gone bad, replenish his and Jonghyun’s water and medical supplies. He could finally take his mind off something that couldn’t possibly last for much longer.

“Been here before?” He asked Jonghyun, not really anticipating an answer. He’d just grown used to filling in the silence, a word at a time. 

“No.”

Jonghyun’s reply echoed across the cavern of what once had been a sunlit atrium. Now, the sky dulled above them, overcast with dingy clouds. “I’m not much of a mall person.”

Neither was Jinki, though he didn’t think that mattered much anymore. His eyes were already scanning their surroundings, hoping to chance upon another mini-mart or dry goods store. They were running low enough on rations that Jinki had fallen back on his habit of fantasizing about the next meal; the more decadent it was in his imagination, the more it hurt to be shaken out of it. He couldn’t afford another breakdown. He pushed away the taste and smell of his mother’s homemade bulgogi, swallowing the saliva that gathered in his mouth.

He wandered onwards, figuring that he’d find what he was looking for if he thought less and did more, but it wasn’t long before he picked up on an unsettling sense of absence. No shadow trailing his own, no Jonghyun beside him. The panic welled in Jinki’s chest; he whirled around, eyes darting from boutique to boutique, searching for any living figure among the waifish mannequins behind their display windows.

“Jinki-yah! Hyung!”

An echo of his past again, mirrored in the present. ‘Hyung’ had been such a rare thing to be called, back when he had friends; he’d looked young and childish enough to pass for a tagalong kid, scampering about with his older brothers before the end of university life and the hope of anything that came close to capturing its youthful, dallying effervescence. 

Jinki had to remind himself that it was him that gazed back, startled, from the glass that reflected his hollow eyes and cheeks. And beyond that, Jonghyun. Jinki stepped back to keep things in perspective; Jonghyun had managed to wander off again, this time into a chain bookstore. Its name still stood out, marred with decay.

“Hyung?” Jonghyun called out again, more cautiously. “It’s okay. I’m coming back out.”

Jinki didn’t have the heart to tell him off again; Jonghyun must have had plenty of opportunities to escape him and his demons. Yet, here he was, trotting back to him obediently, ready to reassure: “Don’t worry. There’s nothing in there.”

“Do you wanna go back in?”

Jonghyun looked taken aback; Jinki had been a stickler to his own personal compass, complete with his own set of rules which allowed for little deviation.

Better try again, Jinki mused.

“Anything catch your eye in there?”

Jonghyun’s gaze flickered to his, examining him for a reaction. When Jinki didn’t give him anything else, he skipped back to formalities: “Hyung?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay…” He trailed off long enough that Jinki thought they would be back to where they started. But:

“I just fucking missed books.”

Okay. Jinki thought he could understand that; he wanted to.

“You like reading?”

“Yeah. I wanted to be a novelist once. When I was a kid.” 

That last bit felt tacked on, capping off something else that had been repressed. Jonghyun must love his family a lot to have sacrificed the security of a potential career in another country, where his imagination could have flourished unchecked by government-issued standards of polite society. Jinki thought he could understand that much.

“Let’s go back in there.” He decided, making sure to lead the way. Jonghyun had made a habit of following him so far; Jinki felt he could spare this much leeway.

He pushed the door open, stepping into the dim mustiness of aging paper and leather. A thick layer of dust covered everything that was visible, from the shelves to the padded chairs and pouffes arranged in circles. It reminded him of the haunted houses in old movies, the ones shot in the early days of technicolor; behind the grey motes of dirt were covers and spines that used to gleam in jewel tones. Jinki knew that if he peered close enough, he would be able to read their names.

Jonghyun wandered around him in a loosely defined orbit. Close enough to be kept in sight, just out of reach if Jinki wanted to touch. In all the times they’d huddled together to battle the cold at night, Jinki had never allowed his imagination to wander beyond what was considered safe: warning taps to Jonghyun’s shoulder and upper arms if they were approached by danger, hands held tight as Jinki pulled them away from it.

Now, as Jonghyun moved, his neck craned and searching, away from him, Jinki wondered just how much he had kept from him. He didn’t hold it against Jonghyun; he knew how heavy that weight felt, how it would dig through one’s back, right through to the heart sometimes. He wouldn’t begrudge Jonghyun a few minutes to let go of some of it.

Right then, something caught Jonghyun’s attention. He followed it, right into a dark corner. Jinki brought up the rear without question; at least one of them had to stay alert. Fortunately, with an instinct that could only have been borne from the best type of memory, Jonghyun came to a halt in front of just another shelf. 

Jinki squinted at the board right above it:  _ ‘Classics’ _ . There were the usual national treasures –  _ Cloud Dream of the Nine _ ,  _ Chunhyangjeon _ ,  _ Sonagi _ – set apart from the translated foreign works. He wasn’t surprised that Jonghyun settled on the latter.

“Oh.” It came out soft and feather-light amidst the darkness around them. “Jinki, I remember this.”

The strangeness of convergence was back again; the achingly familiar past and the comforting echo in the present, perfectly surmised in the vision of Jonghyun’s finger tracing the title on a paperback, voice beckoning to Jinki like an old friend would. 

“Shakespeare?” is what Jinki could barely decipher through the dark. But he’d gotten it right. Jonghyun nodded eagerly.

“Romeo and Juliet. Have you heard of it?”

Despite himself, Jinki scoffed. 

Jonghyun groaned. “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve bought into that cliché about stupid kids making rash decisions?”

“I’d say you read my mind.”

Jinki flinched as Jonghyun stood up abruptly, with that dusty book with the moth-eaten cover encircled protectively in his arms. He must’ve been going for a stern expression; the effect was ruined by the pronounced pout. Jinki couldn’t allow this to slide so easily.

“What is it?” He prodded, trying to bait him. “Am I wrong? Jonghyun-ah?”

A disconcerted ripple passed over Jonghyun’s face, his lips twitching as he tried to contain the little smile. He settled for pulling it to one side of his mouth, right into his cheek, which Jinki was tempted to twist for a moment, to wrench it free. Instead, he clapped a hand on Jonghyun’s shoulder, repeating himself: “Well? Am I?”

“In a sense. Hyung.”

The ‘hyung’ might have been supposed to drop like a stone; instead, it flits across the space between them, skipping through time. ‘Hyung’, a form of address that was meant to maintain distance, but only succeeded in making things more personal. ‘Hyung’, as in ‘take me seriously’.

Jinki shifted his hand to Jonghyun’s other shoulder, the one furthest from him, so that his arm wound across the expanse of his back. 

“I wouldn’t mind knowing why I’m wrong. Really.”

Jonghyun wouldn’t quite look at him, but his hold on Shakespeare seemed to loosen. “You wouldn’t want to hear it, I know.”

“I do.”

“Well,” The tip of his tongue, the bottom of a strawberry, slid over his bottom lip before he began again. “I guess the plot is subject to taste. The themes as well. But there’s no denying the contents are…”

He paused, mulling over the right words. “… beautiful.”

It made so much sense coming from Jonghyun, Jinki realized. It just did. 

“Like, ‘these violent delights have violent ends’. I still remember that one. I used to read it to myself in my room, then in my dorm at college. You couldn’t let the sunbaes catch you reading Romeo and Juliet of all things. I would’ve been hazed to no end.”

“Would it have been worth it?” Jinki murmured, careful not upset the careful balance they’d built as they crossed a line. “Worth the punishment?”

He already knew Jonghyun’s answer: “It was.”

* * *

They spent the night on a bed in a home furnishings boutique. It was a single-sized, cramped fit, complete with duvet and pillow-cases that used to be pink, but after weeks of grass and cement floors, it felt fit for a king.

Jinki paid close attention to the heat from Jonghyun’s back which radiated into his own as they lay facing opposite sides. He was aware of the third party in bed with them: William Shakespeare, nestled on Jonghyun’s other side. He felt left out.

“Jinki?”

He didn’t bother turning to face Jonghyun. “What?”

“Do you bite your thumb at us?”

Jinki rolled over; he couldn’t tell if Jonghyun was smiling. “… What?”

“Shakespeare-ssi has the best insults.”

He bet Jonghyun couldn’t see his eyes rolling. “Calling me ‘hyung’ was insult enough. I don’t have time for this.”

“We have all night.”

“And we should make the best of it when it’s this comfortable.”

“Oh?”

The  _ Oh _ hung in the air, over the sheets, silky with innuendo. Jinki had to admit, he’d walked right into that one.

“You know what I mean. Go to sleep.”

“I can’t.” Jonghyun huffed. “My mind is  _ so _ loud right now, you can’t imagine. The bookstore awakened something inside me.”

Jinki believed him. Until now, there had been parts of Jonghyun that were hidden from him, thinly veiled through his apologies and platitudes for Jinki’s efforts in keeping them out of trouble. Amidst those musty pages, Jonghyun had looked at home and at peace in spite of the world around them. Words did that to people; Jinki wished he knew how.

“There’s another good one: ‘Away, you three inch fool.’” Jonghyun sounded feeble, belying his best efforts at rousing the bard to life. “From my least favorite Shakespeare play.”

“Are you just going to keep talking to yourself all night?”

“As long as you’re here.”

“I’m not listening.”

“You’re always listening, Jinki.” A pause fell as Jonghyun tried to make what he could of his own observation. Then: “Oh. You must be so tired.”

This  _ Oh _ floated after being dropped. It ballooned with the air that left Jonghyun’s lungs, tinged with guilt. There was another apology coming; Jinki wouldn’t have it.

“I’m not tired of listening to you, Jonghyun.”

“Is that why you still keep me around?”

“You  _ chose _ to stick around.”

“I did.”

Another pause; a vacuum of sound. The skin on the back of Jinki’s neck prickled.

“I chose you. Would you ever choose me, Jinki? In another time, another place, as they say?”

“Who says?” Jinki deferred, backing away from the other loaded question. “You’re with me now. It’s only now that matters.”

The tiniest ‘hmph’, lighter than air. “I forgive you for that.”

It was a few minutes before Jinki realized that, beneath the covers, his palms were wet with sweat, fingers curled tight over them, fists smaller than Jonghyun’s, dormant while Jinki’s heart throbbed in his ears.

* * *

When he awoke the next morning, the sound of blood seemed to linger from last night’s dream. It hadn’t turned into a nightmare, not yet; he’d woken in time. It had also grown too hot overnight, but Jinki put it down to Jonghyun’s sleeping form curled tight around him, snoring into his back. At least he’d ditched Shakespeare.

In another time and place, he would’ve run into Jonghyun in a chain bookstore, gaze hooked on him as he furrowed his brows while browsing through the new arrivals and best-sellers. They both would have been cleaner, untainted by the smell of fear, on the verge of becoming something new. Jinki wished his night dreams followed the same pattern as these sleepy morning daydreams as he moved his hands to pry Jonghyun’s from where they’d wrapped around his waist. 

If he was a better man, he’d have gotten out of bed immediately; instead, he lay there still, listening, until it was only until the sounds of something scrabbling above them that grew louder over Jonghyun’s breathing, inciting him to sit up with his ears pricked. The furniture store was located on the first floor; perhaps an animal was stuck in the vents, hanging off the pipes hidden inside the ceiling?

“Jinki.” Jonghyun muttered, his eyes still closed. “Your arm…”

His wound was due for another dressing change. It was a task which he and Jonghyun were supposed to begin today, probably by ripping up one of the pillow covers within reach. But they both flinched now as they heard the sound of crumbling above them, a patch of the ceiling coming apart flake by flake of old grey paint, a fresh cloud of dust forming.

And there was something else too. The familiarity of impending doom made Jinki’s skin crawl; he raced out of the store to peer over the railing to the ground floor, hoping to be proven wrong.

The space below where he stood looked empty. A few seconds later, any premature joy from the relief he felt was crushed by the shuffling footsteps of the thing that appeared in the doorway of the bookstore. Just yesterday, Jonghyun’s eyes had lit up inside that place. Today, right now, it wastime to run again. Jinki’s mind kicked into its familiar pattern: gather their belongings and scout the area for the nearest escape route, keeping as quiet as possible. He had already moved ten steps ahead mentally, keeping Jonghyun at the forefront of each of them, while missing out on what was right in front of him when he burst back into the furniture store.

There was a hole in the ceiling where there hadn’t been before. Jinki hadn’t heard the crash – his head had been too full of escape – and the panic hit him, scattering his thoughts wide and far through the scream that left his throat.

There was something else there on the bed, just where Jonghyun had lain barely minutes ago. From the layers of dirt, Jinki barely discerned two eyes. They met his and blinked. 

There was more movement which he caught from the edge of his sight. 

“Jinki, it’s me!”

Jonghyun rushed to his side, hand outstretched. Jinki took it, breathing a sigh of relief.

The thing was still on the bed, trying to pull itself onto all fours. Its movements were slow, sluggish.  _ Crippled _ , Jinki realized. There was still no time to waste; he tugged on Jonghyun’s wrist.

“C’mon.”

Jonghyun didn’t budge. Jinki pulled harder. 

“Jonghyun,  _ now _ .”

“He’s breathing.”

Jinki tried to gather what Jonghyun was getting at. He followed his stare until his own was directed at the figure on the bed. Sure enough, it gasped, then coughed. Nothing like the hollow rattles that the other things let out. If it had been stuck inside the ceiling all this time before it gave away, how had it got there and more importantly, were there more – 

“Jinki, I think he’s trying to talk.”

Jinki released Jonghyun’s hand and reached for the hunting knife clipped to his belt. He unsheathed it and pointed the blade at the wide-eyed gaze that scanned both of them. He approached it carefully, one step at a time.

He heard Jonghyun’s cautious shuffle behind him, the anxious note that pierced his words. “Careful. Your arm – ”

“Don’t worry about my arm.” Jinki meant it. He could wield the knife just fine in the other one. He’d witnessed enough tragedy so far; he’d take whatever measures to prevent another one.

“Who are you?” He asked, making sure the knife was in plain sight. “Are you infected?”

He felt the irony of that; right when those eyes flickered to the stained cloth that covered his left arm. Jinki kept his focus on the face the eyes were set in: the cheeks might have once been full and flushed with life, the hair must have been kempt and healthy. The lips were pursed and red, almost cherubic from a certain perspective. 

Jinki flicked the knife pointedly over the human form. “Do you have a weapon?”

The other cleared his throat, then answered clearly:  _ “Gun.” _

That explained the hand placed protectively at the hip. Jinki could now see that it was a ragged holster. He wanted to ask this kid just what exactly he had been doing up in the ceiling and  _ how _ on earth he’d gotten up there before gravity kicked in…

But there it was: the death rattle, a keening moan that echoed all the way up from the ground floor. More than one.

Jinki drew back his hand, sliding the knife back into its sheath. 

“Can you walk?” He watched the kid carefully. The boy – for all Jinki knew, he might be older than he appeared – swung his legs to the side of the bed with a wince. He pulled himself to the edge and sat up. Next, he made to stand, but his arms swung unsteadily as his feet sought balance. Jinki looked down at them, taking in the sight of battered sneakers with a big toe poking through a hole in the left one.

The boy staggered forward, speckling dirt everywhere with each desperate motion. Jonghyun was already reaching out for him, before Jinki could. He was shorter than the boy, but stronger. The muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed as he turned around and pulled the boy over his back to carry him. When he looked up at Jinki again, his mouth was set, the corners slightly turned up.

“I can handle him.” He answered Jinki’s unspoken question. “You lead the way. I’ll follow.”

Jonghyun must have also sensed the trepidation in Jinki’s eyes. “We can do this. We’ve made it up to now. We can handle one more day.”

Jinki didn’t hesitate any further; his hand gripping the knife once again, he mentally mapped out the safest route to the mall exit as he, Jonghyun and the boy left the shelter of the store. His infected arm began to throb as his right hand clenched over nothing, empty. 


	3. iii

_... the soft forgotten things, _

\- The House of Dust; Conrad Potter Aiken

* * *

The last thing Jinki would remember of their escape from the mall was having to distract one of the things so that Jonghyun and the boy could make a run for the exit doors. He would always remember the long hair that shifted each time it –  _ she _ – moved her head. It was almost a skull, just the right shade of off-white.

He remembered the uncomfortable weight of the gun – a pistol actually, nicked from the boy’s holster – in his hand, replacing his own knife. She caught him at just the right moment; if she had eyes, their gazes would have met.

He had motioned for Jonghyun to make it quick, make sure the boy held tight to him as he ran. Jonghyun had looked back at him, not nodding, his eyes steeled as they held Jinki to their last promise:  _ after this, you’d better be the one following me. _ Jinki knew it was too fragile to keep; life could turn on a whim. Life might as well be one short, reckless whim.

He remembered the look in the hollows of her eye-sockets, ghosts of a soul. He had imagined that she wouldn’t have been able to see him raising the gun, aiming straight at the mottled grey skin stretched taut over her bony forehead. He imagined that she would not be crying, that the only tears that were being shed were the ones streaming down his cheeks. 

He’d missed the shot, the bullet grazing the side of her skinny neck.

_ Don’t fall back _ , Jonghyun’s trembling voice had resurfaced through the swarm of fear in Jinki’s head as she lunged forward. He’d ducked to the side just as she lost balance and hit the marble tiles with a resounding thud. That noise would have been enough to summon the rest of them. He had counted seven of them from his perch on the first floor; no time to lose.

The doors had been flung wide open to the morning that lay in wait outside. Jonghyun would be waiting too.

Jinki had pushed away the last glimpse of her when he pulled himself towards the light. 

Jonghyun would be waiting.

* * *

It took a good few hours before Jinki found his way back to him. He’d made the mistake of allowing his rationality to slip as his nerves flooded with fear and insecurity. It must have only been a few weeks since the world had flung Jonghyun into his life; it now felt like an eternity with the way in which the man had become such an intrinsic part of his existence. The very seconds that rushed on without him by Jinki’s side brought down the pain in full force. The ache was familiar and unwelcome; it had already wrought its damage on Jinki when his parents were claimed by a horde.

If they claimed Jonghyun too – 

Jinki turned sharply into an alley, fighting it. He’d keep fighting it before they’d take away another part of his world too. He had to keep going, keep fighting the specters that formed in the shadows, even if they took him too. 

The end of the alley opened up into an empty cul-de-sac, through which he staggered into the middle of an empty car park. It was a mundane little neighborhood he found himself in, one which triggered pangs of homesickness. All the traces of his bygone childhood came alive in the overgrown lawns littered with plastic toys and upturned tricycles. He looked around, surveying his memories, blinking through sweat and tears, while the gun in his hand hung useless at his side.

Then came the sound: “Jinki!”

Again: “Jinki, I’m over here!”

How sweet the sound, Jinki vaguely recalled the line from Shakespeare which Jonghyun had recited to him last night. At least, that’s how it had begun; he didn’t care. He needed to hear more of it. 

A head of sleep-tousled hair rose behind a tarpaulin-covered car in a parking space right under a tree growing in someone’s backyard. Jinki believed that he would never want for a more wonderful sight than that of Jonghyun reemerging in the shade, dappled in leaf-strewn daylight. His strength returned tenfold; he ran towards Jonghyun, right into the stretch of his open arms.

If he would have to ever let go, even a thousand years would be too soon. Just as long as it was Jonghyun, Jinki deliriously hoped it could last forever.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Jonghyun hummed soothingly, running a hand up and down Jinki’s heaving back. “Feels like you’re home.”

In the midst of fall, Jinki’s heart burned with the sweet heat of summer, alive and awake and awed in the wake of what it had endured to get to this moment.

* * *

“Stay with me, kid. I don’t even know your name.” Jinki made sure his speech was slow and clear enough for the boy to understand. The kid’s lips were cracked and bleeding, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

“He’s dehydrated. And his foot is sprained.” Jonghyun interjected. Jinki could tell that he was exhausted from having to carry a full-grown living body this far. They had both lifted the kid and carried him to lie down on the cool wooden floor of the nearest porch. 

“We have enough water, don’t we?”

Jonghyun furrowed his brows. Jinki knew the answer; their supplies were already stretched thin between the two of them. With a third, they’d have to exercise every ounce of resourcefulness they had. Bearing that in mind, Jinki turned around and took in the rest of the empty house.

“It’s time for a break-in.” 

It didn’t take them long. The door gave way with two kicks to the handle and ended up nearly splintering in half, barely held in place by a hinge. Jinki remembered how he used to hate seeing things break, back when he’d lived in a world held together by the rule of law. He was too tired to care about any of that now; no doubt the other two minded at all.

He was the first one to venture inside the house, carefully stepping into what he assumed must be the living room. His pistol was drawn over the bare blue walls, an eerily exact imitation of the sky outside. Were it not for the dust that had accumulated over the furniture, the place might have passed for cozy. He recalled the old set-up of his parents’ living room, back when he used to curl up on the sofa with a steaming hot bowl of ramyun in the winter months. As soon as the memory began to bloom, he pushed it back down, burying it under his own footsteps on the creaking floorboards.

Next came the kitchen: a narrow strip of a room with the sink and stove lined up against the left wall and rickety shelves crammed with crockery and utensils just opposite. A screen door at the end led outside into what must pass for a communal backyard shared with the previous neighbors, merely a length of asphalt over which clothes-lines crisscrossed. Jinki took note of a small stone pit for a charcoal grill that looked unused.

Besides this, there were two tiny bedrooms and a bathroom, all of which showed signs of having already been ransacked. The house hadn’t always been empty; Jinki wondered how long it had been since and how much longer they had under its roof. With this in mind, he returned to the porch where the boy still lay, Jonghyun still dutifully by his side. Jinki heard the boy’s murmurs as he drew closer.

“His name’s Taemin.” Jonghyun translated. “He’s twenty-six. We’re his hyungs.”

Jinki knew what Jonghyun meant by that last bit. They were keeping him.

“I’ve scouted the place. It’s all clear. We can move in now, let him rest inside for a while.”

Even as Jinki spoke these words, he still felt their uncertainty. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Jonghyun turned his attention back to Taemin. “We’re gonna help you stand up now. And get you indoors. Think you can manage?”

Taemin answered with a weak nod. Jonghyun reached across him to pat Jinki’s shoulder. “Help me out here.”

Jinki willingly did just that, placing one hand under Taemin’s back and the other around his shoulder to gently push him to sit up. With Jonghyun on the other side, they both pulled him to stand, slinging his arms around their own shoulders for support. Carefully, they walked him inside; Jinki began to make a beeline for the living-room couch. 

Jonghyun only had to take one glance at the couch, wrinkling his nose. “That thing hasn’t been washed in  _ weeks _ .”

Jinki released his hold on Taemin to scuttle ahead and take each cushion out of its place, giving it a thorough beating until plumes of dust rose in the air and into his lungs. He had to work through a bout of coughing before squeezing the cushions back into the couch frame again. It wasn’t much, but certainly better than the hard ground for an injured body.

They sat Taemin on it and made him lie down again. He had been perfectly obedient all this time, allowing Jonghyun to fuss over a lumpy little throw cushion which – after another round of beating and thrashing – was eventually slid under his head. In the meantime, Jinki had gingerly taken a hold of his feet and slowly swung them up to lie on the other end of the couch. Aside from the holey shoes which he began to pull off, there were large rents in the fabric of Taemin’s jeans, gashes of dried blood laid bare and probably obscuring the real depth of the wounds. Jinki sorely hoped these weren’t infected; it was bad enough worrying about himself.

A ‘pop’ caught his attention; he looked towards Jonghyun as he uncapped the liter bottle which they rationed to ten sips a day. It went down to eight sips on particularly chilly days, when the thirst didn’t burn as bad. He watched as Jonghun tilted the mouth of the bottle towards Taemin’s cracked lips, beckoning him to drink. It took a significant amount of effort to get his head turned the right way, then to purse his lips to get the water into his mouth and down his throat. 

Jinki kept watching, until Taemin swallowed the last drop. He then tore his eyes away from the bob of his adam’s apple and the widening eyes coming into focus on their surroundings. His gaze landed on the dust motes waltzing in the draft that came in through a broken window, golden specks in the light of day.

Jonghyun’s cherry-colored lips had gone thin and taut when Jinki’s eyes returned to him, probably just as lost in a tired funk as he was. Neither of them had any idea of where they’d landed and with another mouth to feed, the daily scavenge for food would get more exhaustive.

Jinki kept watching Jonghyun, taking in the blunt curve of his nose in profile. Beneath the accumulated grime of daily life on the run, a grey sheen covered the golden-brown tan of his skin. But it didn’t take away from Jinki knowing that it was there, hot and humming with soul and fire. Jonghyun must have felt his stare; he looked back at Jinki, a silent question alight in his eyes.

It made Jinki want to get up and move things; for the moment, he could only move himself, even if it was just to get up and walk to the shattered front door to swing it back shut to block off what it could of the cold autumn breeze. When he got that over with, it was back to Jonghyun again. And Taemin. He had to keep that in mind going forward from today.

He went to get his knapsack which he’d flung on the floor earlier and began to rifle through it until he pulled out an old black sweater. It was just slightly cleaner than him and Jonghyun put together, but the thick wool should make for a decent absorbent for blood. He took it back with him to the couch, where Taemin still eyed him warily.

Jinki cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. “You’ve hurt your legs pretty badly. We’ll need to take off your trousers to clean them.”

Taemin’s eyes flickered from his face to Jonghyun’s; he looked down to survey the damage done to the alluded limbs. It made Jinki consider how much rolling and tumbling Taemin must have pulled off inside the mall ceiling. He had probably been trying to pull off an escape of his own; from what or whom wasn’t the point. It was the fact that they’d found him alive at all in such a state. 

Jinki carefully placed a hand on Taemin’s right knee, his fingers barely brushing the patchwork of encrusting blood that streaked the pale skin, raw pink flesh and black denim. When Taemin winced at the contact, it came to him then, how conscious one came to feel about one’s own horrors when laid bare before strangers.

“Take your time.” He assured Taemin, not wanting to put him through more than he’d already had to endure. “We’ll need to get you cleaned up soon to prevent your wounds from festering. But only as long as you’ll let us.”

Taemin remained silent. His eyes glazed over as he appeared to consider Jinki’s promise, though he might also be shutting him out altogether. Over the last few months on his own, Jinki had a pretty decent inkling of what shock did to a survivor. Once the adrenalin drained off, all that was usually left was the blind sense of an ending and being left wide open, vulnerable. 

“Give him a while.” He warned Jonghyun as he reached out, fingers almost sliding into Taemin’s dirt-and-grease matted hair. “He probably needs to… to process.”

A spark of understanding illuminated Jonghyun’s face before it gave way to an expression of resigned sadness, which Jinki knew all too well. It hurt him in a way that ran too deep to convey in thought, so he picked himself up off the floor beside the couch and walked into the kitchen, intent on busying himself. He opened the cabinets beneath the counter and above the sink, already knowing not to expect much. He wasn’t wrong; the previous occupants had cleaned out the place. He would have to canvass the rest of the neighborhood for food before sundown.

Out of restless habit, he turned on the tap in the sink. To his surprise, it gushed.

Maybe things wouldn’t be so hopeless after all.

* * *

Now that they were at least assured of running water in the house, the plan to get Taemin cleaned up had taken a turn for the better. Instead of picking at bits of dried blood and mopping up the wet bits with Jinki’s sweater while crossing their fingers for luck, they would give him a shower. Jinki had examined the bathroom and found the showerhead to be in working condition. The water would be freezing, but the possibility of any level of cleanliness was comfort enough.

They had to lift Taemin up off the couch and carry him again to the bathroom. Then came the undressing: Taemin submitted himself to having his ragged shirt and jeans pulled off as gently as Jinki and Jonghyun could manage. He was uneasy – Jinki could tell from the way his shoulders tensed and feet twitched – but wouldn’t say a word otherwise. 

Stripped to a pair of threadbare boxers, Taemin began to shiver. Jinki knew it would get worse once they turned on the shower. 

Jonghyun moved instinctively. He placed his arms around Taemin’s trembling form, not at all minding their shared grime. To Jinki’s surprise, Taemin raised his hands and closed his fists around the material of Jonghyun’s shirt, clenching, as if trying to ground himself. It felt wise to let this moment happen, even if getting to it had already taken up nearly half of their day.

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Taemin lifted his head from where it nuzzled on Jonghyun’s shoulder and slowly nodded towards the shower cubicle. 

They walked him inside the square meter space, sitting him down with the small of his back resting against the tiled wall. Jinki watched him with concern as he stretched upward to lift the showerhead from its metal stand.

“I’m going to turn on the water now. It’ll be cold, but we’ll try to get this done as soon as we can.”

Taemin nodded again, not looking anywhere except at his hands which were folded over his lap. He was a stark sight to behold against the tooth-white tiles, blood and flesh and the trembling bones beneath. An awful color choice for a bathroom.

Jinki turned on the water while Jonghyun stood by with a sponge and a slab of carbolic soap they’d been fortunate enough to stumble upon. As the water sprung forth, Jinki remembered the rainy days, the time Jonghyun had put his arms around him while he broke down in a stalled car, the song he’d tried to sing to him over the sound of the storm.

Jonghyun now spoke gently: “Can you lift your arm up here, Taeminnie?”

_ Taeminnie _ already. Jonghyun certainly had a way with people and getting them to let him in without himself realizing it. His touch was nothing short of tender as he sponged the dirt and blood off Taemin’s left hand and forearm. The water immediately turned grey and brown; Jinki saw the shiver that ran through Taemin as he looked down at the streams.

“Don’t look down,” He instructed, trying not to sound as curt as he thought he came off as. “Leave that to me. Close your eyes. Think of anywhere but here.”

Taemin did what he was told while Jonghyun rubbed the soap into the sponge, filling the space with the smell of old antiseptic. It must have stunk in its own way; Jinki could hardly tell. Between the three of them, they were hardly a bouquet of roses themselves. They probably reeked like the plague. 

When Jonghyun ran the sponge along Taemin’s back, he winced. Jinki knew why; he’d seen the scratches too. It really was a testament to Taemin’s luck that he’d lasted this long. 

Up above them, through the opaque square window, was a ripe full moon. Jinki remembered the story his grandmother used to tell him, about the rabbit who’d offered its own flesh as a sacrifice to a man called God. The rabbit got lucky; it had been immortalized in moonlight, in the shape of its own legend. Just like that, maybe he’d live to tell his own tale.

The pattern of trickling water forced Jinki back to Earth, where Taemin was shrinking into himself from the cold. The spray must be too strong; Jinki moved it slightly so that it was only the edge that splattered over Taemin’s skin. All the while, Jonghyun patiently dabbed and scrubbed away at any piece of filth that came loose when wet. At intervals, he spoke to Taemin, cooing like a mother. It was an oddly soothing sight to behold.

It took ages, an hour or so, until Jinki was satisfied enough to turn off the water. A long, thin towel – the best they’d dug out from a linen closet which smelt like moth-balls – was hurriedly wrapped around Taemin to keep the worst of the shivers at bay. His injuries were obvious enough, but at least they’d spared him the discomfort of sweat and dirt. He managed to stand up with Jonghyun’s help and was able to lean against the sink without applying pressure to his sprained foot.

Jinki was about to turn back and focus on washing away the rest of the blood and scum that clung to the shower cubicle floor when Jonghyun’s hand closed around his wrist. 

“Let me, Jinki.” He said quietly. “I can clean up here. You should help Taemin into some clean clothes.”

“But you – ”

“I know. But you’re tired too. And I’m the one with the cleaning supplies anyway.” Jonghyun feigned a smile through his drained features. “Besides, I figure I could clean myself up too. Make the most out of our stay, you know?”

Jinki couldn’t object to that. Jonghyun had earned this small reward, so he’d let him have it. He nodded and began to usher Taemin out of the bathroom. The nearest bedroom was directly across from it; a few steps later and the two of them stood in what had once been a teen girl’s haven, complete with blush pink walls lined with boyband posters.

A strange sort of laughter suddenly broke out; it was Taemin, releasing what Jinki could best describe as cross between a cackle and a bark. Since he’d only spoken in monosyllables, if at all, until this point, any sort of mirth from him was welcome. Jinki had been holding him upright, walking him to the bed. He was still cocooned in the towel from head to knees and barely looked a day older than a slightly overgrown middle schooler.

Jinki sat him down on the mattress and went to retrieve the medical supplies he and Jonghyun had accumulated over the course of their journey. There was hardly any gauze left, so he would have to make a start on ripping any clean material he could find. Looking around the rest of the rooms, he realized how unexpectedly lucky today had been. They’d had running water first and now the abundance of blankets, sheets and drapes meant that his chances of properly fixing up Taemin were better than bad, if not stellar.

Once he returned to Taemin – who was fixated on a particularly cringy row of photocards strung across the unfortunate girl’s headboard, all of boys with hair shades covering the entire color spectrum – Jinki decided to save them further embarrassment from any unnecessary awkward conversations. In Jonghyun’s absence, silence would reign. 

Jinki focused on tearing strips from a lavender sheet he’d found in a laundry basket. As long as it might have been since they were taken off the lines hung out in the backyard, it still smelt like the fresh loads he used to help his mother sort through at home. He’d never get used to such feelings of displacement; living at present was painful, but it made the ache for the past bigger and fuller. He had to pause for a while and then pick up where he’d left off.

When the strips were ready, he placed them next to Taemin on the bed and set to work. Taemin had waited patiently all this time, to his credit; he didn’t even protest as he took in Jinki’s bandaged arm and the peeling Doraemon plasters. Jinki mused whether he’d earned something in exchange for his troubles, though he expected nothing at all in return from Taemin. He didn’t believe himself to be charitable; ‘a humanitarian’, as he recalled Jonghyun saying. He just did what he had to do, what he felt to be the right thing.

Now that they’d gotten most of the blood off, a lot of Taemin’s wounds didn’t appear as severe. There were a lot of cuts, scrapes and bruises, but only the skin-deep ones bled freshly. Jinki placed cut-up squares of gauze over them and tied them in place with the strips. Taemin gamely offered each one up for examination, until Jinki motioned for him to turn around and bare his back. 

Taemin stared back at him in silence and Jinki assumed he had a clear answer to his request, until Taemin inhaled; one long shudder of a breath taken in and let out in a hiss before he complied.

The scratches stretched down the length of skin, distinguished amongst the collection of scars. They looked like thorns, or the branches of an old twisted tree that always stretched threateningly over children in fairytale illustrations. In the span of one glance, Jinki was offered a part of Taemin’s story. 

He made him turn again, until they faced each other again. Jinki went back to retrieve his old black sweater and returned to help Taemin into it, as well as a pair of spare sweatpants from Jonghyun’s bag. Despite the bulk made up of the makeshift bandages, the clothes still hung loosely around Taemin’s slim frame. He was a pale-faced monochrome figure on a narrow single bed with a yellow sunflower print bedspread and lace-trimmed pillows. Taemin could not have looked more – or felt, surely – out-of-place than he did in an absent girl’s room. Jinki sympathized. 

“Is anything still hurting?” He asked, intending to distract both of them from their own feelings of displacement. “Does the foot still hurt?”

Taemin looked down at the said body part, then leaned down to examine it closely. No professional doctor would have been happy with the makeshift ankle support Jinki had rigged from the lavender strips and he doubted Taemin knew much more about such things. Jinki was still surprised at the tinge of nervousness that passed through him as Taemin flexed his foot. 

He was even more surprised that he was glad when Taemin shrugged it off. There had once come a time when Jinki wondered if he’d ever be able to feel the things he used to run on as boy; namely happiness. Happiness. Joy. Relief. Over anything, over anyone. Things were changing. 

Then he caught sight of the dried blood under his fingernails, the hand which led up to his bitten arm, where the virus banked on its chances of survival with the reduced possibility of his own. Things had changed.

Jinki had to distract himself again, refocus on what was important in the moment.

“You hungry?” He asked Taemin. “It’s too dark for me to go looking for food now, but we have some granola and a few candy bars which can last you until morning. Think you can get something down your throat now?”

Taemin’s eyes lit up at the prospect of nourishment. He nodded.

Nothing doing for Jinki. He at least could take some measure of satisfaction from bringing comfort to someone, no matter how small. The third trip back to his and Jonghyun’s knapsacks found him rummaging for the few small plastic containers of granola they’d scraped together from various supermarket hunts. He decided that it would be more prudent to save the candy bars for daytime consumption, when there was no such thing as too much sugar to help them persevere until nightfall again.

He pulled out two of the containers and made his way back to the bedroom. At the same time, Jonghyun was walking out of the bathroom, into the hallway, done with his shower.

It lasted for a short while, but Jinki knew it would be the last thing on his mind when he closed his eyes while trying to sleep later. Jonghyun’s tattoos glistened when wet, just like the rest of his skin. There was a lot of it exposed, from naked shoulders to waist, the rest below thankfully covered with a towel.

Jonghyun walked by him without a word; Jinki hoped he hadn’t noticed.

* * *

Taemin gobbled down the contents of both granola containers. Jinki didn’t mind and neither did Jonghyun; both of them were beyond exhausted. Eating was out of the question when sleep beckoned. Food could wait until tomorrow.

Jinki had to be talked into taking a shower as well. Jonghyun had insisted, even offering to help if he needed it. This spurred Jinki into getting up and grabbing a towel, ignoring Jonghyun’s confused expression on his way to the bathroom. He made sure to lock the door behind him. Jonghyun hadn’t noticed, at least that much was certain.

But under the shower, watching the dirt run off his body in streaks, his thoughts wandered to the last time he’d been with someone so attractive. It had been the same friend who’d warned him about getting complacent and trusting the government. Changsun had run off just in time, before things got serious. Jinki never held it against him; he still thought well of him and he likely always would.

He just hadn’t been thinking of him at all since Jonghyun.

This was bad. Ridiculous, in fact. Jinki picked up the bar of carbolic soap, fully intending to scrub all of his thoughts away. He rubbed at his skin until it flushed red in spite of the cold water. The only part that went untouched was his arm, where the gauze covered the wound. The dressing was due for a change; Jinki would get it done after he’d dried himself off. 

As soon as he turned off the shower and stepped out to grab the towel, the image of Jonghyun’s arms wrapped around him as they’d slept in the furniture store churned round and round in his head, threatening to ignite something that lay dormant further down. 

_ Seoul _ , Jinki muttered to himself as he rubbed the towel over his head,  _ think of Seoul instead _ . It was the end goal for both of them, even if they were side-tracked. Which reminded him: he’d better try and get Taemin to open up about where he had been headed before getting stuck in the ceiling. He’d have to be tactful, of course; the past was not a path to be tread recklessly.

After he finished changing into his clothes inside the bathroom, he unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway to find Jonghyun waiting for him.

“Your arm.” Jonghyun offered by way of explanation as he reached for it. “Let’s get you fixed too.”

Jinki fought back the urge to protest when Jonghyun’s hand slid into his, pulling him towards the living-room where he’d switched on his torch and set it on one of the coffee tables. He’d found a few of the lavender strips too; they were set on the table next to the last of the clean gauze. Jonghyun led him to sit down on the floor next to it.

“Just trying to make the best of what we have.” He drew the full length of Jinki’s arm out, the skin eerily pale in torchlight. “Don’t mind me if I mess up.”

Jonghyun had never messed up with his arm, Jinki knew that and wanted to let him know. If anything, he thought he ought to let Jonghyun know that his gentle touch was a hazard; dangerous in the way that it reminded him of a lover’s. 

“You’re…” Jinki began instead, so hesitant, so afraid of what it would feel like when Jonghyun let him go, done with him. “You were great. With Taemin.”

Jonghyun let out a little sigh. “He’s just another lonely soul. Like we are.”

Jinki didn’t know what else to do, but keep silent and wait it out. Jonghyun’s fingers moved deftly as he swabbed off the tiny speckles of dirt Jinki had missed during his shower. As he moved to apply the gauze, their shadows followed suit, enlarged in the artificial light, filling up one wall in the room. The strips soon came in handy for tightening the fresh wad over the bite.

“There. All done.” Jonghyun removed his hands all too soon. He went to switch off the torch too, which sank whatever had been building up in Jinki’s chest. The accidental marquee over which their shadows had momentarily moved as one was gone in the flick of the switch. Of course, they still had the moon, but she had always proved to be a fickle mistress.

Jinki’s eyes adjusted to the dark, to Jonghyun’s clear, solid figure, an outline that moved away from him to dispose of the old dressing. He got up and followed him after he was done, and they both moved to the room where Jinki had left Taemin.

Taemin lay asleep on the sunflower-patterned bedspread, clean-smelling and hopefully cozy in their cast-offs. They stood in the doorway, not daring to wake him. Then there was only the master bedroom left, with its larger queen-sized bed and duvet. There would be enough space for each of them to have their own corner. Or so Jinki assumed.

He turned to lie on his side on the mattress, facing the open door. It was always wise to have an escape route, especially in case they had unexpected nightly visitors. He had rifled through the trash left behind by the previous occupants and managed to salvage an assortment of tin cans which he spread before each door and window opening. An intruder would not be able to take them by surprise in silence.

Perhaps he would end up spending the night like this, too paranoid to fall asleep. There was also the timebomb nestled in the flesh of his own arm, waiting for the worst possible moment to turn his own worst nightmares against him. 

“How far do you think we are from Seoul?”

Now that Jonghyun asked, Jinki realized he hadn’t thought of Seoul much during what had transpired today. The hope of reaching his destination and finding that mythical cure felt more distant with each day that passed.

“I haven’t been keeping track. Sorry.”

He felt Jonghyun shift behind him, sliding under the duvet. “It’s fine. So long as we’re not going in circles.”

Guilt crept inside Jinki; unlike him, Jonghyun had a family to find. There was a decent chance they were still out there, searching for him as well. Jinki knew he hadn’t been much help.

“I really am sorry.”

“Jinki…” Jonghyun’s voice, so sweet and sure, Jonghyun’s body heat, so tantalizingly close. “It’s nothing to apologize for. Shit happened. And we at least saved someone from something worse.”

“What if I’m… ‘something worse’?”

He could feel Jonghyun slide in, right so that their skin brushed. Thank God they were both clothed.

“Is your arm…”

“It’s not that it hurts. Not most of the time. But… it’s just there. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing that anyone can.”

He drew away from Jonghyun, almost close enough to tumble over the edge of the bed onto the floor, hoping that it could drive his point home. Subtlety must have since become a lost art once the world had started to fall apart, but Jinki needed to remind Jonghyun – and himself – that keeping some secrets was a necessity, if not a foregone conclusion.

“Jinki?”

Jinki wouldn’t fall for that again, giving way to his heart. Those feelings had made a haven within the hell they were forced to live through on many, many occasions, but that’s all they were. Flowers wouldn’t yield fruit as they used to before and he couldn’t delude himself into believing that whatever he dreamed of, sweet as it were, would overtake the nightmare slowly poisoning him.

“Don’t you want me?”

The question, uttered more like a plea, struck him to the core. Jinki whipped around to face Jonghyun, colliding hard enough to accidentally push Jonghyun slightly off of him, far enough that it was already unbearable.

“Twenty-one days, Jinki. I’ve been counting them. In another time, I know it wouldn’t amount to much. But that’s not ours to control. And I’ve spent each day with you, next to you, and I know I don’t regret any of them.”

Jinki hadn’t been keeping count; all he’d known was the period before and after the outbreak. Then it was before and after losing his parents. And then it was Jonghyun, and only ever after Jonghyun.

Hope was a terrible thing to carry; the way it weighed on one’s thoughts, forever clasping it to happiness and dreams, instead of what unfolded before one’s eyes. Jinki had thought Seoul was hope, Seoul was the dream of joy, a compensation for everything he’d lost. But all Seoul had grown to be was direction, while Jonghyun had turned out to be the one thing that gave his life meaning.

It was so much realization to take in all at once and Jinki crumbled under the weight of it all.

He tightened around himself, determined to keep the walls up, keep the tears in and ride it out. He’d never cried in front of anyone before; he’d never had anyone to cry before. Jonghyun, on the other hand, seemed determined to put an end to that streak.

“It’s me.” He kept saying as he wound his arms around Jinki, burying his face in his chest. “I’m whoever you need me to be. Anything you want.”

Every single thing Jinki yearned for came down to one word.

A name.

* * *

While Seoul remained as distant as ever, they decided to make do with what lay right in front of them. This was mostly Taemin: feeding him, tending to him, keeping an eye on him as he attempted to gain control of his independence by limping around with one hand flung out to lean against the furniture. They wouldn’t have been able to gain much ground with someone who’d suffered the amount of injuries he had, so they stayed where they were, in the empty little house in the barren suburbs.

Jinki took to the streets with renewed fervor, spurred on by the additional belly to fill. There wasn’t much he could scavenge from, except what he got through breaking in to the neighboring houses and backyards. It was mostly tins of beans, jars of kimchi, rock-hard stale loaves of bread which were at least devoid of mold, and once, a tub of yoghurt which he thought considerably lucky.

Then the real windfall came when he happened on an apparently empty plot of land, on which the soil lay soft and brown. It gave Jinki a hunch about something, which turned out to be for the better when he walked over to inspect it closely, noting the shape of the leaves which he recognized from his days in his grandmother’s backyard.

It was that evening when he returned with an armful of sweet potatoes that he was blessed with the sight of watching Jonghyun peer over the plastic tub of wet clothes he’d dragged out into the backyard to hang dry and Taemin leaning on the new crutch Jinki had put together from a pair of broken hockey sticks and tea towel scraps. They both looked at him, smiles gradually dawning as soon as they realized the treat they were in for.

The charcoal grill was put to work as they set the remnants of the coals alight with a lighter Jinki had on him and placed three of the mottled orange potatoes on it to cook through.

They were missing the really good stuff: the meat, ribs, a mother’s bowl of homemade kimchi and any amount of sauces to go with it. The first bites burnt their tongues, but they laughed through it all, even through the tears made by the smoke. The sense of displacement crept up on Jinki again; he remembered being part of a trio with his parents. Now it was him and Jonghyun who manned the grill instead of his father and mother. Taemin was propped up on a canvas lawn chair, gnawing into the first potato that they’d managed to cook through.

Even if it wouldn’t last for long, Jinki felt the hole in his heart fill up. He was brimming with happiness and a thing that felt as close to love as he could imagine. 

For a while, he sat back on his haunches and let it all sink in. He was happy. The thing called love kept him anchored to this place and time, wretched as it was, and he looked through the smoke, through the encroaching dark at the two figures that moved around him, seeing nothing but the very things that made life worth living for.

* * *

Each night, he went to bed with Jonghyun. He’d initially considered setting all three of them up in one room for safety but Taemin had visibly balked at the idea. The flicker with which his eyes passed from Jinki to Jonghyun informed them of his unwillingness to intrude on their space. The heat had risen in Jinki’s cheeks, though the flutter in his chest fell low to the depths of his belly, where another fire altogether was stoked.

But he knew it could never rise higher than that; he’d seen what a bite could do to a person. The last thing Jinki wanted to find out was what an infected kiss could do. If Jonghyun minded about settling for cuddles that never went anywhere, he hadn’t placed the slightest hint. 

Instead, he would sing to Jinki. They were songs he’d been working on before he moved to Japan, the ones that might never see the light outside of the room they shared. Jonghyun knew they needed more; at least, that was what he told Jinki, like it was a disclaimer of sorts. Jinki had no idea what he was talking about. 

When Jonghyun sang, it was nothing but the words and the voice. Just weeks ago, it had been the very same voice crying out to him for help over the upper-floor rail in the subway. Now it spoke to him, soothing him, filling in the spaces that lay inside his heart. 

Jinki had no idea what to give him in return. Jonghyun couldn’t have his body and he didn’t have enough words to weigh against his. Jinki was no poet; a long time ago, he’d been someone’s son and a friend to many. He’d known love at its familial and fraternal best. He realized that he’d held it in his heart all this time, even while it was shattered to pieces.

Jinki knew love when he felt it.

He knew what he now felt for Jonghyun and had never been so helpless in all the years he’d lived. There had to be something he could carve from it, to offer to the warm body that lay beside his. 

Jonghyun knew. Jonghyun smiled and reached for his hand in the dark, clasping it and bringing it close to his chest, letting Jinki know that it was enough. 


	4. iv

ROMEO

_ O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night, _

_ being o'er my head, as is a _

_ winged messenger of heaven _

_ Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes _

_ Of mortals fall back to gaze on him. _

\- Romeo and Juliet; William Shakespeare

* * *

The shape of his dreams was fixed along the lines of the figures that formed in them. Right in the thick of them, Jonghyun would know that the most familiar ones belonged to his mother and sister. He would sometimes feel the soft brush of his dog’s fur around his ankles. When he’d sneaked onto the ferry from Japan, the dreams always began slowly and ended abruptly.

Often, the awakening took him out of himself, lurching him eyes wide open into a world on the brink of destruction. On the road by himself, following every loose end that would have led him to his family, he didn’t mind the shot of adrenalin that came with waking up from such nightmares. Then the world around him – or at least Korea – just got worse with each passing day, until sleep and those hazy dreams were almost welcome.

It was a horrible conundrum for an insomniac like him. Jonghyun would often sit awake by himself in deserted doorways and try to remember the many things he used to be; a son, a brother, a friend. Then he would shift things to the present:  _ I am, I am, I am _ .

In the worst of times, this type of mantra was another shot of adrenalin. ‘ _ I am myself before I am anyone else’s’ _ , his sister would remind herself as she did her hair up in front of her dressing table before any big date, only to let it down and keep it the way it was. Except that Jonghyun hadn’t felt like himself for quite a while now, not while he was so many things to the people he’d loved.

Jinki and Seoul hadn’t been part of the plan. He’d never had a proper one in the first place, granted, but he knew he was in desperate need of some direction. And Jinki wasn’t like any of the other survivors who’d crossed paths with him. Men and women alike had been so worn down by the outbreak that there was hardly room left in them for even a shadow of the people they used to be. Jinki had almost turned out that way.

Jinki had listened to him, allowed him to tag along, made every allowance for Jonghyun’s bumbling each step of the way. In another time and place, there might have been nothing magical about it, but Jonghyun had been starved for human contact. Not just an exchange of information or piddling over supplies, but someone to remind him that he wasn’t alone, that his wasn’t the only heart that beat itself bloody for yearning for better days.

Jinki must wonder why he counted the days since they’d met; Jonghyun mulled over it himself as they lay in bed together. Before all of this, wasn’t that what couples would do?

Now that they had the simple luxury of a semi-permanent roof over their heads, Jonghyun finally had the time and peace of mind to put his thoughts to paper. The pen had been a gift from his mother, the worn brown leather notebook from his sister. It was a small comfort to have a part of them in his hands, his fingertips calloused and stained with earth as they were.

He would write during the mornings, while Jinki and Taemin were still asleep. Sometimes it was an account of the perfectly cold shower he’d taken a few minutes ago or a bittersweet ode to the last sweet potato he’d allowed Taemin to scarf down for yesterday’s dinner. But oftentimes, it was him and the feelings which had lain dormant in his heart, and the thoughts that still lay warm in bed with Jinki. It’s not a love story, barely even a skeleton of it, but these were the bones and the blood cells and each beat of his heart that had made it past the night.

Today, Jonghyun was at it again in the living room, cross-legged on the floor when he looked up to find Jinki standing in front of the hallway, staring.

“Good morning,” Jonghyun began, though the grey circles under Jinki’s eyes and and the clammy pale skin of his cheeks had him worried. “You hungry?”

“I…” Jinki began as well, but the shudder that overtook his body came first. He made to lean against one of the walls, as always, trying not to make a show of any pain he suffered, but this just brought Jonghyun right up on his feet and scurrying towards him.

Jonghyun reached for him, feeling alarmed at the coldness he felt radiating off of Jinki’s body. “Do you want to go lie down? I can whip up some toast real quick…”

Jinki straightened himself, with that stubborn jut to his chin, but then something else flashed through his eyes, more fragile than his usual stoicism. 

“Could you… make it…”

“Yeah.” Jonghyun assured him, placing his hands on Jinki’s shoulders to make that clear. “Go lie down. I’ll bring it to you.”

As Jinki turned around to head back to the master bedroom, Jonghyun quickly darted to the smaller one to check on Taemin. He was relieved to find him still asleep, tucked under the covers. While Taemin had warmed up significantly to Jinki over the past few days, Jonghyun always caught that wary flicker in his eyes whenever Jinki’s injured arm came into his view. There was no need to panic him further.

True to his word, Jonghyun fished out a few slices of stale bread from the stash Jinki had pulled together from all the pantries in the neighborhood and took them out to the grill. He had to pull his jacket on before stepping out; it was a gloomy, cold morning.

With Jinki’s lighter, Jonghyun got the fire in the pit going and placed each slice on the wire grill, watching them until they were sufficiently brown on the side facing down so that he could flip them over to get them done on both. Afterwards, he piled them onto the lid of one of their plastic containers and carried them carefully to where Jinki lay in bed. 

Jinki had huddled into his side of the mattress. He’d always been quiet, but this kind of silence from him was tense and uncomfortable. Jonghyun walked around the bed so he could crouch right by his side on the floor while placing the food on top of the duvet. His hand flew to Jinki’s forehead while he already hoped he would be wrong about the dread that was coursing through him.

“You’re so cold.” Jonghyun whispered. 

Jinki didn’t bother with nodding.

* * *

Last summer had been the hottest Jonghyun had ever experienced. As he’d lain sweating under the covers in his bed, trying to console himself with the prospect of getting up and into an air-conditioned studio, he’d cursed every single solar-powered deity he could bring to mind, from Apollo to Amaterasu. More than a year later, shivering in the encroaching cold of the last days of fall, Jonghyun wished someone had told him about karmic wrath. It seemed a more comforting explanation than irony.

He paced down the empty streets, feeling little more than a failure in his attempt to take over Jinki’s scavenging duties while he lay freezing in bed. There was no question about it; Seoul was the answer. For him, it had just been a possibility, but it had been hope for Jinki, even with the cure only being a rumor.

Jonghyun had to slow down to take stock of their situation: Jinki was showing the warning signs of succumbing to the virus while Taemin still had his sprained ankle to contend with, leaving him the sole able-bodied member of their trio. Between all three of them, they had two knives and a gun which contained four bullets. If he could scrape some rations for today, they could eat and rest well before departing this place first thing tomorrow morning.

Just thinking about it felt so overwhelming. Organization had never been Jonghyun’s forte, but any faculties he possessed would have to be pushed to their furthest limits over the next few days.

He remembered the look in Jinki’s eyes.

No more questioning himself; he would do it for Jinki.

* * *

Despite his best efforts, Jonghyun’s haul from the mini-mart five blocks from where the house stood was considerably smaller than what Jinki had previously gathered. Neither Jinki nor Taemin said as much when he returned, but Jonghyun was immensely aware of his own shortcomings in resourcefulness. He had an imagination he had once been proud of and today, it had served them nothing.

To compensate, he divided his share of the food between the other two. He’d already laid out his plan for the three of them to pack up and leave the house by sunrise and received no protests. Instead, Taemin had reached across the meager pile of cereal bars and squeezed Jonghyun’s hand. It was a comforting gesture, which immediately warmed Jonghyun. Once again, he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let either of them down. 

In the time that he’d left Jinki in bed, it seemed that the few hours of rest had helped the invalid regain some strength. He was able to get up and walk around, albeit slowly, with careful measured steps. He now sat down next to Jonghyun, deep in thought.

The more Jonghyun dwelled on the following morning, the more he wanted to let up and scream. 

“Are you sure you’ve eaten enough, Jinki?” He said instead, trying to distract himself from his worries. “You of all people need to keep your strength up until we reach Seoul.”

Jinki pressed a cereal bar into Jonghyun’s palm, deliberately left over from his share. “I’d say the same for you.”

“I’m fine. It’s you that I’m worried about. We need to get you to that cure…” 

__ “Jonghyun.”

There was a wary note in Jinki’s voice, which Jonghyun didn’t like at all. He looked like he was parsing his words with great caution, preparing to drop the terrible truth.

“… Nobody knows if that cure even exists. None of the people I met on the road knew for sure.”

“You can’t have met the right people. I mean, you said they were moving  _ away  _ from Seoul, right? In the opposite direction, because they weren’t focused on finding it. There’s no saying for sure that it isn’t true.” Jonghyun was sputtering, grasping for anything resembling hope. “There  _ has _ to be some truth to it.”

Jinki wasn’t looking him in the eye. He had settled into an icy calmness, his mouth set. 

“Jonghyun.”

His name fell from Jinki’s lips with a sickeningly heavy weight. 

“Jonghyun. You need to understand one thing. About what… might happen tomorrow. Or any time afterwards.”

Jonghyun didn’t want to hear it; the thought was already too much to bear. 

“No. No, no, you don’t get to talk like that – ”

“The infection might take over before we even get there. If that happens, there’s no telling what’ll come next. Once the changes start…”

A lump rose in Jonghyun’s throat; he stubbornly swallowed it down. “I know you’re stronger than that. You’ve made it this far, Jinki. Please…”

“I had help.”

“No, you had you. You’re your own strength, Jinki. All I did was get in your way and slow you down…”

The tears were beginning to flow. With that came a strange mix of guilt and gratitude that swelled from each memory that crossed Jonghyun’s mind. This cramped, drafty house was a haven compared to what they’d been through together. Jinki had put his all into making sure they’d lasted that long; all Jonghyun had given him were words and that was all he could spout even in such a moment like this.

“I’ve got nothing, Jinki, and fuck me for that, but it’s true. I couldn’t give you what you needed then, but I’ll make it up to you, I swear, and Taeminnie too. I’ll get both of you to Seoul even if I have to get through ten of them…”

The shadows were beginning to fall with the sun’s descent, casting the room half in darkness. Jonghyun could no longer find the energy or imagination to project the plan into motion in his mind. Jinki offered him a sip of water from one of their bottles; Jonghyun would not accept it.

“Tell me about your family.” Jinki finally asked him. Jonghyun knew what he was resorting to; Jinki was losing hope and he didn’t want Jonghyun falling into the same slump. He wanted Jonghyun to have something to live for, when he wouldn’t be able to. The questions sounded awfully like blackmail, but Jonghyun figured he’d just have to use his words, the only weapons he had, the ones he was increasingly losing faith in.

He began anyway.

“We used to live on food stamps. Dad was hardly around, so Mum had to pick up the slack. She sent my sister and I to live with our grandparents while she worked three jobs to make rent. She looked really beautiful in those pictures of her when she was younger; she still is.”

Somewhere, his mother was still beautiful. Jonghyun briefly wondered if by replaying these memories, they’d repeat themselves into the present, turning dreams to real life. 

“And your sister?”

“She’s two years older, but she’s smart enough to be ten years ahead. She used to help fix stuff around the house. Once she did my roller-skates. Then my bass guitar. She used to say the one thing she couldn’t fix was people, no matter how much she tried. She said that when my first girlfriend broke up with me and I wouldn’t stop crying. But she listened to me. She stayed up with me until two in the morning, even though she had classes at eight.”

While he talked, Jinki slipped his hand into his, squeezing it whenever his voice trembled or a new lump formed in his throat. It was to keep steady, Jonghyun knew. In return, he squeezed back, hoping to give the same support, even if it was barely a thread of warmth that broke through Jinki’s clammy skin.

_ Seoul _ , Jonghyun kept that thought in the forefront.  _ Seoul was the answer. _

_ Seoul was the key.  _ It had to be, it’d better be, swear to every god he could think of.

* * *

All their preparations the night before had them ready far earlier than the expected sunrise. A quick run-through of the communal backyard under cover of darkness led Jonghyun to a bout of inspiration when he stumbled upon an empty wheelbarrow. It was tinged with rust and creaked slightly when moved, but there was nothing some quick elbow grease wouldn’t fix.

It was what he worked on in the kitchen when Taemin entered, balanced precariously on his crutch. Jonghyun met his questioning stare with a soft smile of his own, answering: “This is gonna be a lot of help to us, Taeminnie.”

Taemin always took to the nickname well; his features instantly shifted into a less wary expression. 

“It’s for you,” Jonghyun chirped, hoping to lessen the incoming blow to his pride. “When you get tired.”

As expected, Taemin soured visibly. Jonghyun supposed that there must be some divine force at play, pulling and binding the three most stubborn people in the country together on a road-trip. Unfortunately, none of the vehicles Jonghyun had come across in the neighborhood were fit for travel; most of them were barely even scrap metal potential.

“I know, I know, Taemin, you’ve been getting so much better, I can see that. But there are  _ miles _ ahead of us. Your foot hasn’t fully healed still.”

It was sound reasoning in Jonghyun’s mind, but Taemin’s frown didn’t budge. Jonghyun stifled the sigh that needed to be let out as he walked over to where he stood in the doorway. Taemin looked up at him, then away. It was nothing Jonghyun took too lightly; being on the run, surviving a close escape from an attack, then getting trapped inside of a mall ceiling with no food or water was a lot to process in the time Taemin had been with them.

“You know about Jinki hyung, do you?”

Taemin blinked, then nodded carefully. He was observant enough, Jonghyun had gauged that much. 

“His body temperature’s dropping. He’s trying not to show it, but he’s getting weaker as well. But do you still think he’d get in that barrow?”

There it was, the wisp of a smile. A hint at the sweetness beneath the horrors they’d endured. 

“You’d do it for Jinki hyung, wouldn’t you, Taeminnie?”

Taemin hesitated for barely a second before he nodded again. Jonghyun held his arms open, mouthing ‘thank you’; less than halfway through the sentiment, he received an armful of Taeminnie, his thin arms wrapping around Jonghyun’s back. It was the first time Taemin had returned his hug. Jonghyun didn’t want to make anything more of it than what it was, which was just a moment. A tender token passed from one companion to another.

He let go of Taemin first, making sure his smile was still in place when he told him to go sit on the couch while he got everything else set up. Jonghyun then headed to the master bedroom.

Jinki was sitting up on the edge of the other side of the bed with his back towards him, fully dressed and absolutely silent.

“Hey,” Jonghyun murmured as he walked around and sat next to him. “Jinki-yah?”

Another tiny smile. If that was the least Jonghyun could give to both him and Taemin, he’d take them as good omens. Earlier in the morning, he’d tried to coax Jinki into eating an extra roast sweet potato which he’d saved from the night before. Jinki had cut it into pieces with his knife, bundled them up in a scrap of lavender cloth, and sealed it in a plastic container.

“Just in case we get hungry on the road.” He’d said.

Jonghyun hoped that was Jinki’s pragmatism influencing his decision. Anyone else would think so.

“You ready?” He asked him.

Jinki nodded. He stood up and even through the early morning dimness, Jonghyun could still make out the pallor in his face. When Jinki began to walk out of the room, Jonghyun caught up with him and wound his arm around his shoulders as they moved. Jinki’s steps slowed; maybe because no one else would, but he stopped and pulled Jonghyun into an embrace of his own.

They stayed that way for as long as they could; which might have been forever. 

But the world encroached, beckoning to a greater sense of self-preservation that had hung over them since last night.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jonghyun said, his cheek pressed into Jinki’s. “You, me, and Taemin. We’ll be a great team.”

Jinki wouldn’t let go of him until he did.

* * *

Taemin still had reservations about being pushed along in the wheel-barrow, no matter how comfortable Jonghyun had tried to make it look by placing a pillow and blanket inside it to compensate for the exposure to the cold breeze. His loneliness for human company made him stubbornly cling to Jonghyun’s side, while he made as much use of the crutch as he could when they began to walk out of the house.

At least, that was what Jonghyun assumed. He wouldn’t hold it against Taemin, not when they were all in this for the only thing they had to hold on to. Jonghyun might call it ‘love’, except that it’d be more accurate to call it ‘lovesickness’, in the same way that ‘homesickness’ existed in the vacuum left behind by departed families and pets. So it ended up being called ‘love’ anyway, the love that had once lived for parents, siblings, friends and lovers, now having nowhere to go but the closest living bodies within reach.

And maybe it would all be a case of stupid was as stupid does, and Jonghyun was grasping for something totally out of his reach, which he still dreamed he wouldn’t have to replace. Somewhere out there, across time and distance long since past, he’d had a mother and sister, and Jinki had parents, and so did Taemin. And whatever love he longed for had settled between either of the men at his side.

In due time, they finally passed the sign-post which revealed the name of their temporary home: Sejeong-dong, a queen’s name that had survived this far into history. 

“See, perhaps there’s hope for us yet.” He told Jinki and Taemin. “Once the storm has passed, maybe we won’t even remember how we made it through.”

Jinki took a sip from his water-bottle, while Taemin just looked puzzled. Jonghyun kept his laughter to himself. 

“Don’t mind me. I’ll stay quiet the rest of the way. I tend to go off on tangents, just ask Jinki hyung. It’s amazing he’s not tired of me yet.”

“I’m not.” Jinki stated in a tone so firm that Jonghyun succumbed to a twinge of remorse at his attempt at humor. He looked down to the wheelbarrow he pushed instead, filled with their rations instead of Taemin. 

Jinki had a nice voice, he thought. It was usually the case with the quiet ones; Jinki might have been perfect as a balladeer, given the right amount of training. Jonghyun imagined one such song, wrapped around the soft velvet tones he’d come to miss when Jinki wasn’t around.

“So what’s Taeminnie’s favorite type of music?” It was both a distraction and a source of focus. Without functioning wifi or radios, Jonghyun figured he’d had to keep all three of their spirits up. “You look like you enjoy R’n’B.”

There was a long pause while Taemin took in that observation. He nodded, eventually.

“Ahh, hyung’s good at these things, isn’t he?”

Taemin smiled.

“It’s a pity we don’t get that sort of popular music here…” Jonghyun weighed his words, realizing his mistakes. “We didn’t used to. Japan was better at that sort of stuff. A lot of R’n’B there. Jazz and funk too. What’s Taeminnie’s favorite singer in Korea?”

Like with any piece of personal information offered from Taemin, Jonghyun knew he’d be in for a long wait.

“Don’t tell me. I’ll guess. My bet’s on – ”

“Michael Jackson.”

Jonghyun’s jaw dropped and next to him, he imagined Jinki’s had too.

Taemin grinned.

* * *

“It was a song called ‘Deja Boo’. I really pushed for it to be a title track for my debut here, but my agency wasn’t having it.”

It felt oddly liberating for Jonghyun to talk about it here, on the side of an empty highway where they’d stopped to rest on a grassy knoll. With his manager and CEO back then, it had felt like a lost cause, trying to persuade them to give his self-composed work a chance.

“I even have the lyrics in my notebook…” As soon he blurted it out, the self-conscious flutter of shame beat in his chest. Not for the song itself, but for whom he’d been at the time he’d written and composed it.

“Forget I said that.”

Taemin and Jinki seemed to do just that. They’d already dug into their portions of sweet potato shavings and kimchi sprinkled over them; the exhaustion of continual walking coupled with the carb crash in the afternoon had rendered them drowsy. Jonghyun figured he might as well keep a lid on his own gabbling for the time being.

Jinki was lying on the grass, on his side with his back towards Jonghyun. Jonghyun wished his phone had survived the many knocks his life had taken after his arrival in Korea; that had been the only place he’d had a copy of his songs on. That, and his mother’s phone, to which he’d always used to send them as a back-up.

Surely Jinki would have liked at least one of them? He’d even compose brand new ones for Taemin, if they could remind him of the person he used to be. 

Love again, the only explanation.

A metallic screech shattered the silence.

Jonghyun immediately jerked himself upright and scanned the road and surrounding fields. The screech was now succeeded by a distant rumbling, followed by:

“Gunshots.” Jinki whispered.

Jonghyun rushed to his side to check on him. A chill ran through him when he was met with Jinki’s clammy skin and shallow breaths. It was getting bad again. Behind him, Taemin was already rising to his feet, no less startled. Jinki allowed himself to be pulled up, though he stumbled as he was made to stand. Jonghyun allowed him to fall against him; another brush of memory appeared in his head, that of the drunk girls who used to land in his arms after a night out.

The rumbling got louder, crushing it.

They were on top of the knoll, but couldn’t see far enough to determine the source of the noise. Whatever it was, it was best to put as much distance between it and themselves as they could.

“What’s your…” Jonghyun’s voice caught as he took in Jinki’s drooping eyelids, behind which he’d tried to suppress a pained eye-roll. “What’s your full name?”

“Lee Jinki.”

Jonghyun had determined – through no evidence but whatever he could conjecture from desperation – that he would have to do his utmost to keep Jinki, and whatever semblance of self-awareness he possessed, with him. Lee Jinki, his name, Jinki had to remember who he still was, if that would keep the changes at bay.

But as Jinki’s mouth contorted into a tremulous ‘O’, Jonghyun knew that time was running out.

“Come on, Taeminnie.”

Without a word of protest, Taemin clambered into the wheel-barrow and laid his crutch across his lap. He watched Jonghyun lift Jinki onto his back, piggyback-style, and take hold of the handles. His lips parted in concern, but Jonghyun hushed him with a warning glance. To take the edge off, he forced a smile.

“Ready? Let’s go.”

Jonghyun pushed the wheelbarrow onto the road, keeping his eyes fixed on whatever patch of road he could see over Taemin’s head. Jinki’s breathing was loud and labored in his ear. It would get easier with each step, he assured himself.

The front wheel of the barrow hit the first pot-hole, nearly causing all three of them to tip over.

Jonghyun bit back a curse, muttering “Superb” instead. Love, he remembered, love was the key. Love would keep him going.

“Jonghyun…” His name was relayed in a hot puff of air in his ear. It was burned into his blood, with the name of the first person he’d given it to at the beginning of all this.

“Stay with me, Jinki. I told you I’d get us there – ”

“That’s… not likely.”

Jonghyun forced himself forward, resisting every element of danger that could possibly appear in his head. “I promise you I will.”

“If I don’t make it, the gun – ”

“No – ”

“…use the gun.”

Jinki’s hand squeezing his shoulder must have meant to be comforting, but it weighed more than the entirety of the body of his back. Jonghyun couldn’t shake his head, though he grit his teeth in defiance; the gun, cold and snug against his hip, would come to no use, no matter what the hell Jinki was implying. Jonghyun would see to that.

Taemin’s voice rose next, quavering: “Hyung!”

Jonghyun looked to the right. His heart stopped.

The creature might have been a woman once: it had long hair and it wore a ragged red dress which flowed behind it like an errant flag as it stepped closer. Red lips which opened over a fissure in its face, red nails that still gleamed on its one hand. It was like a work of fiction come to life in the worst possible way.

Jonghyun’s hand moved to grip the gun. With the other hand still clutching the barrow, it was close to losing its balance with Taemin in it. 

It tilted its head back, bearing the exposed bones in its jaw and throat. It screamed.

Before any of them could react, there were two more creatures appearing over the grassy mounds that lined the road. These might have been men once; they didn’t stop to let out more shrieks. They continued in their approach while unleashing those unearthly sounds. Behind these two, Jonghyun could only guess at how many were on their trail.

The gun had three bullets; firing off one would attract the entire horde. They had to outrun them. 

Summoning whatever strength he could, Jonghyun broke into a jog. 

The road stretched out long and wide before them; at the back of his mind, he knew there was only so much he could do to fend them off.

Hot breath in his ear again.

“Jonghyun-ah,” Jinki breathed. “Just let me down here.”

“You can’t run, Jinki.”

“I know.”

It struck him; he saw Jinki’s plan unfolding and he couldn’t bear a second of it. “Jinki, no way! I’m not letting you – ”

“But you have to. It’s insane to carry on like this…”

“No, I promised – ”

“I won’t hold it against you. You’d be doing the right thing.”

In spite of everything Jonghyun had told himself, every single thing he’d thought he’d steeled himself against, his eyes were welling. “No, Jinki, I won’t. I owe you this much…”

“You’ve already done enough for me. You’ve made everything until now worth it. Every single day.”

Their pursuers were drawing in on them, the shrieks growing louder and more erratic at the prospect of feeding. Taemin was holding up his crutch, wielding it like he was about to enter a fight. The sight lifted Jonghyun’s spirits slightly.

“Jinki, you know I love you, don’t you?”

As tiny and weak as it was, Jonghyun knew a surprised gasp when he heard one. 

“I really do, Jinki. No matter how we met or what we’ve been through, I love you. I’m not letting you go that easily.” 

With that, he surged forward. His knees burned as he sprinted, being as unused to the weight on his back as the grip of the barrow was to his hands. Jinki might have lost hope, but he and Taemin wouldn’t; there was no room to get caught up in sadness. There was only the three of them, with not a care tethered to their feet except how far they could take them. In this moment, deep in the pits of an exhilaration borne from adrenalin and fear, Jonghyun deemed that running on anything less than that was humanity’s greatest crime.

Then came the next pot-hole, then the great stumble. The barrow went flying out of his grasp, sending Taemin tumbling head over heels onto the asphalt. Jonghyun too lost balance and fell, landing face-first; he felt Jinki slide off his back and land hard somewhere behind him. His only hopes now lay dashed, with the pieces of the wheelbarrow and their scattered rations.

Jonghyun barely caught the taste of blood in his mouth; his greatest priorities didn’t include himself. Even while falling, he’d reached with one hand for Taemin and the other for Jinki. Taemin was trying – and failing – to scramble to his feet, to get to his crutch that lay a few feet away from him. He wouldn’t make it in time.

“Jonghyun.” Jinki groaned from where he lay immobile on his back. “Get to him.”

He couldn’t leave Jinki like that; the horde was gaining ground on them. Jinki would be the first within their grasp.

“Do it.”

The next few seconds slowed over the last three words from Jinki’s mouth before he let his eyes fall shut:  _ I love you _ .

The metallic screech was back in full force, but Jonghyun couldn’t hear it over the sound of his own screaming.

The figure in red loomed over Jinki, jaw drawn open – 

Its head burst wide open, in a flurry of rotting flesh and dried blood. As it slumped forward to the ground, Jonghyun watched in mute horror as the bullets hit the next few corpses in the oncoming horde. Where the shots were being fired from, he didn’t know; their sole gun was still safely clipped to his belt.

The metallic screech again. Then Taemin’s cry of ‘Hyung!’

Jonghyun tore his gaze away from Jinki just in time to see the jeep speeding towards them. It was military green, the type he’d seen on patrol at border-points, and the canvas hood was visibly folded back. The closer the vehicle accelerated, the sharper the screech of its tires. His eyes were soon drawn to the driver and more importantly, the occupant of the passenger seat who was stood up and aiming a long-barreled rifle over the windshield.

It was Taemin who yelled for help. Jonghyun was rooted to the spot where he’d fallen over to cover Jinki; he wouldn’t be able to stand it if this was a stress-induced hallucination.

The jeep came to an abrupt halt a few meters ahead of them. The figure with the rifle hopped over to the side and raced towards the first person in their way: Taemin. It was a man, tall and lean, strong enough to pick him up and swing him over his shoulder.

“Hey!” He called out to Jonghyun. “You’d better hurry!”

This sense of immobilization was completely new to Jonghyun; he couldn’t bring himself to get up and leave Jinki behind.

The driver of the jeep now stood in his seat, with as stern an expression Jonghyun could make out. He began to bark commands to the man with the rifle:

“Minho, tell him to haul his friend up here if they both want to live!”

The man – Minho? – looked Jonghyun straight in the eye.

The sound of Jinki’s ragged breathing echoed in his ears.

Jonghyun summoned the last of his strength to pick him up and run to where their saviors urgently beckoned them. In what seemed like no time at all, all three of them were flung into the back seat of the jeep which spun right around, away from the horde, and ate up the rest of the road. Over the sound of the engine, the shots went off, over and over, ringing in his ears long after they’d stopped.

* * *

The man armed with the rifle was Minho from Incheon and the driver was Kibum from Daegu. That was all the information they volunteered before leaning over the barrier between the front and back seats, raising their pistols to Jinki’s head.

“NO!” Jonghyun screamed and it came out as a gasp, worn out from the last narrow escape. “Please, please don’t…”

“He’s infected.” Kibum plainly stated by way of explanation. “From the looks of things, he’s not going to last all the way to the base in Seoul.”

Jonghyun’s head spun, his eyes filling with tears. “So it’s true? There’s a…”

“Cure? Yes. If he manages to make it before he’s a corpse himself.”

Kibum’s last sentence was punctuated by the click of the silencer sliding into position on his pistol, the blunt open end pressed to Jinki’s forehead. Jonghyun glared at both him and his partner.

“You lay one hand on him and I’ll take you down myself.”

Minho’s pistol shifted from being pointed at Jinki’s head to aim dead center under Jonghyun’s chin. Out of the corner of his eye, Jonghyun noticed Taemin trembling in his corner of the jeep.

“Stop.”

Jonghyun startled at hearing Jinki’s voice. He instinctively moved closer to him – already being practically attached to his side – and took his hand. It was still cold and clammy, so Jonghyun covered it with his larger one. Even if Jinki made for a sorry sight to a pair of strangers, his life was still worth the attempt to save it.

“I’ll… I’ll make it.” Jinki continued, with no hint of a tremor in his tone. “If there’s a cure… if there’s a chance… I won’t give in.” 

Jonghyun squeezed his hand and burst into tears. 

Minho lowered his pistol slightly and glanced sidelong at Kibum. After a silent exchange, which Jonghyun couldn’t determine, they drew back their weapons and settled into their seats in the front. Through the rearview mirror, Kibum glared at the three passengers.

“You’d better make it in time.”

* * *

It was a half hour’s drive before they reached the ‘Base’. Minho had filled them in on the way; it was a former military compound turned makeshift headquarters for what remained of the armed forces to operate from. It was tiny in comparison to most other sites in the country, but it was the only place with a functioning lab, staffed with the top-most medical experts. A team of immunology specialists had been working round the clock on a cure.

“And?” Jonghyun spoke aloud for Jinki. “They found one?”

Minho fiddled with the vehicle’s dashboard until he managed to crank open the glove compartment. It was an old-fashioned boxy thing which Jonghyun remembered seeing inside vintage cars; his grandfather had owned one and he recalled his mother’s stories about being driven around in it when she was a child. It was another flash of memory, the past haunting him again. 

He looked over at Jinki and forced his mind into the present. At the same time, Minho had dug out a notepad lined with black scribbles which must have meant something to him. He flipped through them, picking out facts which he in turn must have gleaned from those specialists.

“Yeah, you could say they found one. Though it’s had mixed results; some of the infected don’t take to it as well as the others. They’re the ones still in quarantine. But at least they haven’t turned. Yet.”

“Has to be said.” Kibum muttered. “Wouldn’t want your boyfriend getting his hopes up.” 

It wasn’t soon before they had their first glimpse of the building. Minho was right; for a hub of such importance, it hardly looked to be of much significance. It looked like a collection of short apartment blocks which wouldn’t have seemed out of place in the passing scenery viewable from an overhead tram. But what it lacked in imposition, it made up for in bustle; the place was teeming with people, military and civilians alike, all alive and well.

Despite Kibum’s warning, Jonghyun’s heart soared. They’d finally reached Seoul; he’d kept his promise to Jinki and he would make every effort to see the rest of it through.

They drove up to one of the buildings, which Minho dubbed the ‘Medical Bay’. At its entrance, two slight women wearing face-masks and gloves were positioned. As Kibum pulled up closer, he motioned to the nearest one.

“Yah, Soojung!”

She’d already swung the backseat side-door open, taking in the sight of the three of them huddled together. After a quick assessment, she turned to the other woman at the entrance. “Unnie, get a stretcher! There’s one infected here, possibly serious. And one for the kid here too, his foot looks bad.”

Jonghyun watched Taemin bristle at being referred to as a ‘kid’ and felt the muscles in his face stretch. He put his hands to his cheeks, realizing that he was smiling.

* * *

Jonghyun was determined to remain at Jinki’s side after seeing that Taemin and his foot were attended to by a middle-aged nurse. Since Jinki had been snatched up by medical personnel as soon as the stretcher was wheeled to Kibum’s jeep, he’d had to bother a number of harried looking people to get to where they’d taken him. Eventually, a kind orderly led him to one of the wards, which was in fact a long mess hall lined with beds and monitors of all types. Jinki lay in the third bed on the left, right in the middle.

He must have been sedated to appear so peaceful. Jonghyun made sure that he stepped about quietly, before sinking into a plastic chair at the side of the bed. He’d seen the charts clipped to the foot of the bed, but was too tired to even attempt at deciphering the science behind them. To the specialists on duty, maybe that was all cases like these amounted to a daily basis: just science. To Jonghyun, it meant another long wait as everyone else around him sought answers.

For now, he had Jinki. And Jinki had him. He wondered if he knew that.

For a while after their rescue, he’d felt on top of the world, but it seemed like there was yet another obstacle to overcome.

Under the blankets, Jinki shifted. His hand twitched where it lay over the covers, as if trying to hold onto something. Jonghyun thought about all the people he’d been with, the girls and guys who smiled at him in his memories, and pondered how he’d never memorized the feel of their palms sliding over his, like he had with Jinki. He leaned from his chair to take that very hand in his again.

He longed for so much more than this; to really touch Jinki, take him to places he’d never pictured in his wildest dreams, to run his fingers across his chest and stomach, to draw laughter from deep within them, to lose his hands in the forests of his hair when they lay together.

Those were just the best laid plans. Jinki’s road to recovery would not be an easy one and Jonghyun knew he needed to steel himself. But right now, he wanted to take back any control of his reasoning and hold it in. What he felt for Jinki was the realest thing in the moment, even if he couldn’t come up with enough words to contain it.

So he let it flow, with each press of his thumb to the base of Jinki’s palm, and when that wasn’t enough, he leaned closer still, took up Jinki’s hand and pressed his lips to each callused knuckle.

From behind a bank of clouds, the moon stood sentry, awaiting the dawn of a new day. 


	5. v

_I no longer wait, I live._

\- The Joyful Mysteries; Rosario Castellanos

* * *

A friend had once told Jinki that love wasn’t a love song. It was the same friend who’d escaped the virus, the lover who’d gotten away in time. The one Jinki still didn’t hold anything against, though he thought he might have gained some ground to disagree with him on that most important point over the past few weeks.

He’d become acquainted with the dark side of love: the stain it left in its wake, in the shadows that had beckoned to his heart when loneliness fed on him. And in spite of that – or because of it – it made love, when found in the most unlikely places, sweeter. Jinki could think of nothing else to compare it to than the melodies that had lulled him to sleep on the nights on the run. He knew he’d always remember that song, any way the wind blew and everywhere the moonlight touched.

He hadn’t seen Jonghyun since being transferred to the Base’s medical facilities, where he was placed under the watchful eyes of the team who, hopefully, held the cure to the disease harbored inside his body. After a few rounds of injections of an antibody solution, Jinki was informed that the virus was being held at bay. While it was immobilized, it would be time to start the first course of treatment to completely eliminate it.

It sounded motivational enough; Specialist Seo Juhyun was a good speaker, he’d give her that. Life on the outside had hardened him to most words of comfort, unless they came from Jonghyun in a song.

“See this?” She motioned to what looked like a large white cylinder, inside which an adjustable gurney was attached. “We’ll be placing you in here for the radiation.”

The room they were in was a small, dim one, with a long glass window to the outside corridor which ran along the wall opposite them. Juhyun had apologized for both the size of the room and the lack of light. They were putting in all their resources towards treating as many of the infected they came across, which explained why they were utilizing a repurposed classroom for his treatment. Jinki hadn’t minded at all and informed her as much.

With that out of the way, Juhyun began setting up the machine as well as several other apparatuses and monitors. Jinki walked up to the window and stared further down the end of the corridor, towards the entrance doors which opened and closed after nurses entered and exited. He then turned his attention to what looked like a speaker attached at the bottom where the window met the rest of the wall below it.

“What’s this for?” He asked.

Juhyun turned and glanced at the device. “It’s just a two-way line between us and anyone who wants to stop outside for a chat. Oh, I should remind you that you’ll be under quarantine until the results of your first round of treatment are released.”

No Jonghyun until then. Jinki sighed. Juhyun picked up on the sound and grimaced in sympathy.

“I know, it sucks. You probably wish your boyfriend was here, do you?”

Jinki didn’t know how or when that term had come up, unless there was, in fact, something between him and Jonghyun which seemed to give off that impression. In any case, he had never tried correcting anyone.

“I… I do… I kinda wish I could spend more time with him. But I’ve been alone before. I can handle it.”

Juhyun smiled, with what he wondered was a twinkle in her eye.

“Shall we get started?”

“Sure.” Jinki returned to the gurney, which was sliding automatically out of the cylinder. Once it was fully lined up for him to lie down on, he climbed onto it and made to do just that. Juhyun was busy in the background, jabbing at various touchscreens while speaking into a portable radio transmitter. For a minute, Jinki thought he caught the phrase ‘send him in’.

Juhyun was then standing over it, her mouth closed, but the smile no less warm.

“Jinki-ssi, the first day of the procedure is usually difficult for most patients. Some of the side-effects you may experience are dizziness, nausea, vomiting and you might experience blurred vision for a while afterwards. I understand that you must be nervous.”

Jinki thought of his parents, the losses, the close shaves and narrow escapes, and replied, “I’m quite all right.”

“Hm, not the answer I was hoping for as your caregiver, but I’m sure any type of support you get would be beneficial throughout.” Juhyun turned to the window and Jinki heard her say, “Thank you for coming here, Jonghyun-ssi.”

Jinki’s heard jerked up. On the other side of the glass, Jonghyun wore new clean clothes and the old smile which had been there to welcome Jinki every time he returned to his side. Jinki felt light and his spirits were lifted, which was a ready source of amusement for Juhyun.

“I did warn you about the dizziness. Is your heart racing, Jinki-ssi?”

“It’s never been better.” Jinki kept his eyes on Jonghyun; he’d missed that smile, that big mouth too full of courage. He couldn’t bear the idea of tearing his gaze away from him for even a second.

Juhyun approached the window and beckoned for Jonghyun to press the button on the speaker on his side. While Jonghyun fiddled with the device, Jinki sat upright just in case he missed the smallest sound. But the worry proved unfounded when Jonghyun’s voice filled the room:

“Hi, Lee Jinki! Are you being good? How’s Juhyun-ssi treating you?”

“We haven’t even started.” Jinki grasped for more words, anything to keep Jonghyun around longer. “I… I missed you.”

Jonghyun’s face softened. Jinki knew that expression well; he’d come to appreciate how rare and wonderful that such a look could only be directed at him. Even Juhyun must have understood, with the way she quietly stepped back to allow them their reunion.

Jinki didn’t know what else to say.

It was Jonghyun that came up with it. He let out a puff of breath over the glass that separated them and drew a perfect lopsided heart in the condensation; the perfect response.

Jinki laughed.

* * *

The next few days were critical ones, which Jinki spent in and out of the treatment room with Juhyun. Aside from his daily meetings with Jonghyun through the glass, he was completely isolated. He spent breakfast alone, huddled over a bowl of milk and cornflakes while listening to the nurses and attendants gossip in the patients’ mess hall. From what he could decipher, it was mostly business as usual for the medical ward, inundated as it was with the steady stream of survivors being brought in.

Until one day, when there was a shift in the flow of conversation. Jinki sensed the lightness in the air, so much so that he stopped one of the nurses – a girl who looked barely fresh out of high school – on her way out of his ward and asked her about the latest she’d heard.

“No one’s told you yet?” She asked right back, surprised. Jinki took in her questioning face, the laminated name tag ‘Yerim’ which hung around her neck, and shook his head.

“They’re opening up the air space. The UN’s sending in a task force. The higher-ups keep saying that help is on the way.”

Jinki supposed it was all right to smile, to hint at some semblance of joy. It had been a long time coming for all of them; too late for many.

The next day, Juhyun announced that he would be out of quarantine soon. He was responding well to the rounds of radiation and riding out the side-effects as best as he could on his own. Now that his immune system was on-track to a full recovery, he wouldn’t need to spend all his free time holed up in the ward all by himself.

“You must be tired of seeing my face first thing every morning.” Juhyun joked as she went through his final checks. “Looking forward to seeing your boyfriend in person?”

‘Your’, as in his, Jinki’s. His boyfriend; it still sent a pleasant shiver beneath his skin. In two days, he would be able to touch and hold him. His boyfriend; what a trite little term. It felt too small to wrap around how he really felt about the stranger who’d fallen into his arms on a leap of faith.

“Love on the brain?”

Jinki twitched in his place, seated on the gurney while Juhyun flicked her pen at the glass window right across from him. He looked at his transparent reflection and could hardly recognize himself; he seemed like he was aglow. Running his fingertips over his mouth, from the middle of his lips to the corners, he felt it taking root. Perhaps it had been there for a long while.

“D’you think there’s a cure for this?” He asked Juhyun half in jest, hoping he knew the answer.

She returned his smile in full.

“I’m afraid not. You’ve got it bad.”

* * *

He was discharged in the middle of the day, clean and ready to go with a few warnings not to overwork himself and to report back at the smallest sign of relapse. Jinki walked out of the Medical Bay, into the cold winter air, with a spring in his step. He’d last seen Jonghyun yesterday through a layer of glass; today, he’d promised Jinki he’d be waiting for him.

It was a mostly empty outdoor basketball court that he walked into, as scheduled. Jonghyun had said he would meet him, near the bleachers that faced the center of the court. It was there that Jinki laid his eyes on him, unobscured by nothing but the air they breathed.

Jonghyun’s cheeks were fuller now, tinged a healthy shade of peach. His lips were still red, cherry red, and Jinki was already picturing the strawberry-bottomed tip of his tongue that swirled behind his teeth. He knew from the way Jonghyun’s face broke into a smile, the way his mouth curved around each syllable in his name, that he’d finally found what he’d been searching for.

Home.

Sweet, sweet home, in the shape of the arms that folded themselves around him, in the crook of the neck where it met shoulder, where it smelt like safety and truth. To have known such great heights of fear, to fall back into an embrace like this, which no love song could compare to, was surely the beginning of something.

“Jinki,” Jonghyun murmured, as if from a spell. They held onto each other, while the wind ebbed and flowed around them. “Jinki, my Jinki…”

Jonghyun’s mouth tasted sweet, unlike any ambrosia Jinki had read about in novels or heard through songs. It was sweet like words unsaid, but now set free, soaked through with soul. Jinki cupped his face in his warm hands, kissing him the way he’d seen in music videos, in a manner he could only hope that encompassed everything that was too big for words. Jonghyun sighed as their lips parted, surging forward whenever Jinki’s tongue receded, like it was another harmless game between lovers.

“You were covered in light the first time I met you.” He told Jinki, when he got his breath back, wasting a bit of it as he giggled. “My torchlight angel. I must have used up all the luck in my life when I met you.”

Jinki had nothing to show for this, except one more kiss and the next that inevitably fed into it. He would stay by Jonghyun’s side forever, he was sure of it.

So when Jonghyun’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, leading him out of the cold, Jinki followed as his heart overflowed.

* * *

Inside the tiny room assigned to Jonghyun in one of the residential units, the daylight fell in-between the window slats in luminous horizontal stripes. With each turn of light and shadow, Jonghyun’s smile was warm and enticing and just a bit wicked. His gaze held weight as he seemed to take Jinki in; Jonghyun stood across from him as he sat on the bed.

Jinki had endured the last few weeks of separation, with Jonghyun’s visage just beyond the glass. There was nothing in-between now, except air and breath and the sound of the oak tree branches rapping against the window, bent by the wind. He could behold Jonghyun’s face in its new fullness, the cheeks especially, peppered with previous kisses. There was a twist to the side of Jonghyun’s lips when he approached Jinki.

He realized suddenly that Jonghyun’s hair was black; he must have washed out the brown dye after they arrived at the Base. It made the rest of his skin look cool to touch, sharpening the edge of his jaw and the bridge of his nose. His collarbones stood out to Jinki, the hollow at the base of his throat inviting him to press his mouth to the papery skin.

He did just that.

The sigh Jonghyun let out left a ripple to run down his back and chest; Jinki felt the skeletal shiver as he pulled him closer, inviting Jonghyun to land on his lap. Jonghyun’s thighs settled on either side of him and their hips brushed, sending tremors of current that made their hands tremble as they each grasped the fabric of their shirts. Jinki allowed himself exactly one exhale of the scent of the soap Jonghyun had scrubbed himself with, then steadied his hands to rid Jonghyun of his top.

What remained of Jonghyun’s abs were a faint outline and a layer of muscle that trembled beneath Jinki’s fingertips. Jinki’s mouth was otherwise occupied with eliciting as much approval from Jonghyun where it set on his bared neck and chin. He made sure to shift his hands around Jonghyun’s waist and up his back, steadying him whenever a well-placed suckle made him buck into Jinki, almost toppling over in the haze of desire that engulfed him.

Jonghyun’s lips found their way to his too; they were plump from the last couple of rounds, wet with spit, but no less eager than when they’d first met Jinki’s. With each new kiss, Jonghyun made sure his hips snapped forward, claiming Jinki’s gasps as spoils. Jinki felt the hand in his hair, pulling his head back so Jonghyun could explore his own neck and sliver of exposed chest. Each brush of Jonghyun’s free hand lit a flame that swooped low in Jinki’s belly, stoking him, guiding his hand to tug Jonghyun’s jeans lower at the waist.

He heard Jonghyun whine the lower his fingers traced, the deeper he explored. Jinki would do anything to have that on repeat, nothing but Jonghyun’s moans to puncture the silence. He’d wrap himself around him to keep him safe; he would do that. He moved Jonghyun off of him, laying him down on his back. In the brief rush of shadow overhead, Jonghyun’s tongue was red and ripe.

The next time Jinki kissed him, they were both freed of their clothes and Jonghyun was spread beneath him, legs and mouth open and welcome, hands groping for every last bit of Jinki he’d missed out on. Jinki pressed his fingers inside him, as deep as he could go, anything to hear how close Jonghyun was. He nuzzled into the crook of Jonghyun’s neck, relishing the vibrato brought on by his explorations.

It got to the point when it wasn’t enough for either of them. Jinki removed his fingers, replacing them with himself. He moved slowly, taking care to ease into Jonghyun. He wanted this to be good for him, just as something worth waiting for had to be. He wanted Jonghyun to remember this moment, each and every touch.

Jinki looked at him below him, recalling the day when that strange boy had dropped into his life. The flash of memory lasted for a second and then it melted away beneath the brush of his lips over the slightly raised inked skin; Jonghyun’s tattoos held many stories within them and Jinki wouldn’t stop until he’d discovered them all.

Jonghyun raised his leg, nudging Jinki slightly with his ankle. He wanted in on his secrets too, so Jinki leant over him, kissing Jonghyun as he took him deeper, higher, pouring everything locked inside his heart over Jonghyun’s tongue, contained in three words.

They moved together, chasing the light. Jinki’s hand found Jonghyun’s beneath the sheets; they remained clasped until Jonghyun’s voice broke.

They picked up where they left off several times throughout the rest of the day. Jinki was blessed with the sight of Jonghyun on his back, on all fours, on his side as Jinki planted kisses on his shoulders and thrust into him, each safe in the other’s arms. When exhaustion caught up with Jinki, he let Jonghyun sidle in-between his legs and put his mouth to good use.

Their hands had never let go.

* * *

Taemin had formed an unlikely bond with Minho and Kibum in the time that Jinki was quarantined.

“They take him out on drives and stuff when they’re free.” Jonghyun told Jinki over a steaming bowl of ramyun. “He even talks a bit to them. I’ve heard him.”

Jinki slurped down the broth, chewing as he took in this information. “Should I be worried?”

“No. It’s good to hear him laugh.”

Assured, Jinki returned to his food. It was his second; Jonghyun had given him his share after being subject to the carnage Jinki had wrought on the first one.

“Those two aren’t that bad once they’re not trying to shoot anyone.”

Jinki’s lip curled. He took a break from eating to nudge Jonghyun with his foot under the table in the courtyard. “You shouldn’t have threatened them with murder in the first place.”

“Yeah? Considering what they might have done to you, can’t say I regret anything.”

The glint in Jonghyun’s eyes was hard to lose sight of in daylight. His mouth was pressed in a firm line, offset by velour lips, the taste of which lingered on Jinki’s tongue. He put down his chopsticks and got up to join Jonghyun on the other side of the table. When he sat down next to him, he pressed his nose into his hair and inhaled the scent of shampoo. A Velcro strap on Jonghyun’s jacket had also come undone; it found its way into Jinki’s grasp. He tugged on it for a while, thinking about the way clothes seemed to fall off naturally once Jonghyun got him alone in a room.

Jonghyun didn’t appear to mind being played like this. He moved closer to Jinki for a snuggle and only shivered when he felt the other’s breath on the back of his neck.

“When did you decide to get tattoos?” Jinki asked. He was genuinely curious about the script that lined Jonghyun’s nape, but also wanted to hear him talk about happier times, about the parts of himself which he was proud of.

“After my mother gave me permission.”

“You… asked her?”

“Yeah.” Jonghyun’s thigh pressed into his, presumably for warmth. Jinki pressed back, just as an excuse to be together in any way they could in the moment. “It just felt like the… ‘correct’ thing to do, I guess?”

“I used to ask my mother’s permission to go out drinking with my friends.”

The flash of memory again. But the brush with his past didn’t cut as deep, the way it had when he used to be alone. It emboldened Jinki enough to continue:

“She used to send me a text at 11 sharp, reminding me not to get too carried away. She’d still do that, even after I moved out. Once when I didn’t reply, she sent my father out to come get me. I was mad at her then. Not so much now.”

A part of him wanted to stop, say _fuck it_ , and let the rest of his words hang. The other part of him has his hand curling into Jonghyun’s.

“I never should have argued with her when I did. Not when I can’t apologize for it now.”

“What was the last thing she told you?”

Jonghyun’s tone was soft and undemanding when he asked.

Jinki found that he had the strength to answer.

“Never give up.”

Jonghyun’s hand was moving up, until his thumb and index finger pushed Jinki’s up to meet his eyes. “And you did it. You did it for them.”

It was a cold day, with a strong enough wind to allow their voices to carry away, rendering them in whispers and shallow breaths. When Jonghyun spoke again, his words were all the more clear: “I’d like to think you did it for yourself too.”

“And you too.” Jinki knew that was true. He would always remind Jonghyun of that. “You’re the one who saved me in the end.”

“You saved me too, Jinki. I’ve always wondered when you’d figure it out.”

Jonghyun smiled, full of teeth and heavy with affection. “I love you. Just a reminder.”

“I won’t forget. I love you too.”

* * *

Over the next few days, the international aid extended to the rest of the country. More survivors were rescued and brought to the Base to be examined by the reinforced medical staff. Whenever Jinki met up again with Juhyun for his check-ups, she seemed tired but happy and enthusiastic about the help they were receiving.

“Things are still rough, but they might just get better. All we have to do is keep moving forward…” Her eyes narrowed over a fresh mark on Jinki’s skin, right between the neck and shoulder. “How on earth did you get this? Were you playing rough with the other boys?”

“Just one.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

Jinki bit on his bottom lip, stifling the laughter. “It’s just a simple romance.”

Juhyun’s eyes widened as she absorbed it for all of a few seconds before her own smile took over her expression.

“If you say so.”

With one swift movement, she stuck the needle into his arm.

Regardless of the new bruise he’d earned, Jinki felt that nothing could sink the grin on his lips as he walked to the heavy vehicle parking area. Two more buses ferrying survivors had come in and were emptying into the area where they were met by medical personnel. And if some of them were lucky, reunions awaited them too.

He found Jonghyun on the sidelines, watching the masses. He was exactly where Jinki had left him earlier, before he’d had to rush to his appointment with Juhyun.

Jonghyun was still waiting.

Jinki was careful when he settled his hand on Jonghyun’s shoulder. “Where’s Taemin?”

“Meeting up with his brother.”

Jonghyun’s gaze was fixed on the spot where Taemin had rushed into his older brother’s arms, injured foot notwithstanding. Jinki knew that Jonghyun would never begrudge anyone’s happiness, but each day with no updates on the whereabouts of his own family were taking a toll.

“Do you wanna go back inside?” He asked, wrapping an arm around Jonghyun’s shoulders. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“No.”

Jonghyun looked up at him with a small smile in place, which barely masked the hint of sadness in his eyes. “I’m okay, Jinki. Besides, I think Taeminnie wants to introduce us.”

He was right about that; Taemin was already making his way towards them, brother in tow, his beaming face a beacon in the crowd.

* * *

That night, Jinki would have done anything for Jonghyun, would have gone to any end of the earth to bring the joy back into his eyes. But Jonghyun seemed to want nothing more than to settle in bed, beckoning to Jinki with that same heartbreaking smile.

Jinki did what he could. When Jonghyun kissed him, he responded with tenderness, arms wrapping around him as he lay him down underneath the covers. When Jinki broke the kiss, it was only because he wanted to move his mouth to places that made Jonghyun moan, cry out, scream, almost sing into the darkness.

He remembered the highway to Seoul, when he’d already given up. Jonghyun’s words had kept pulling him back.

Jinki didn’t have the same words and their healing powers, but he had his hands and his lips, and he knew his way around Jonghyun’s body. His kisses moved from jawline to neck, from shoulders to chest, encircling the exposed nipples, eliciting ecstatic gasps and Jonghyun’s hand in his hair. His mouth moved along the smooth planes of Jonghyun’s stomach until it reached the dry tuft of curls that lined below the navel.

He took Jonghyun’s tip in his mouth, giving it a wet little peck with his lips before going in deep. The hand in his hair tightened as Jonghyun let out a breathless wail. Whatever was troubling his mind, Jinki wanted it out. He had to open up wider, loosen his jaw around Jonghyun’s thick length to get as much of him as he could.

He heard his name being chanted, the way Jonghyun usually did when he was close. _Jinki, Jinki, Jinki_ , the voice cracking sweetly over syllables with each suckle. Jinki savored each second until Jonghyun finally came hard down his throat.

Swallowing, Jinki slid his mouth off him with a slick sound that echoed in his eyes and crawled his way up Jonghyun’s spent body to give him a taste of himself. Jonghyun’s fingers slid from their hold in his hair to hold him by the chin, so he could lick his mouth clean.

Those same fingers soon moved down to massage Jinki’s own throbbing cock.

“Your turn.” Jonghyun whispered, sweet and dirty, almost enough to make Jinki lose it right then and there. He held on long enough for Jonghyun to stroke him to completion.

Then it was over and Jonghyun was curling into his arms to return his embrace. They laid like that for a while, sticky and satisfied, until Jonghyun was the first to break the silence.

“Thank you.” He murmured to Jinki. “That was amazing.”

“I learnt from the best.”

Jinki wasn’t sure how much the praise was worth, but it was at least enough to draw a smile from Jonghyun. It was a small, genuine one, an effect of the afterglow and made Jinki want him again, just to have and hold for the rest of his life in his arms. He had to settle for wiping the sweat from Jonghyun’s hairline as he asked, “How do you feel now?”

He can’t expect a positive answer, he knew that. All he wanted from Jonghyun was the truth of his feelings and he’d take anything from him, as long as it was from Jonghyun.

Jonghyun’s eyes closed as he lay his head on Jinki’s chest.

“I miss them so much.”

“I know.” Jinki’s gaze fell over Jonghyun and beyond, towards the empty sky and the waning moon outside. “They’re waiting for you somewhere. One of the rescue teams will find them eventually.”

“But…”

Jonghyun couldn’t finish the question and Jinki didn’t have the heart to do it for him. _But what if it was too late?_

“They’re out there.” Jinki repeated, hoping that the same force that had bound his life to Jonghyun’s was also somewhere out there, at work in the far-flung universe, even in the most desolate corners. “You’ll see them again soon. You’ll be happy again.”

“I’m happy now.” Jonghyun opened his eyes and raised his head to make Jinki look at him again. “Maybe I’ll be happier tomorrow. Spring is on the way.”

Jinki turned back to him and pulled the covers over them.

“Spring will come to you soon.”

* * *

On that day, the sky was the most beautiful shade of blue Jinki had ever seen. The air was clean and crisp when the next few buses rolled in to the parking area. Jinki counted them: five of them, all repurposed school buses. They were all packed with people from different parts of the country, all fortunate enough to have made it this far.

From the second bus, a woman who looked to be about his age stepped out after a throng of families. Her hair was cut short, just above her shoulder, and her coat, while clean, was heavily wrinkled after hours of traveling. In one hand, she carried a small duffel bag; in her other arm, a tiny dachshund puppy twitched its head in a bewildered manner. Behind her, an older woman followed with a shuffling gait, also clutching a duffel of her own.

Jinki looked at them, then at Jonghyun who stood frozen beside him, marveling at the resemblance. He didn’t need to ask when Jonghyun turned to him with teary eyes, the joy spilling out from each corner of his dazzling smile.

The young woman was scanning her surroundings, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar setting. As soon as her stare landed on them, Jinki saw Jonghyun’s smile reflected back at him. The older woman dropped her bag with a gasp, clasping her hands together in a frantic, thankful gesture.

The dachshund pricked her ears at the sound of Jonghyun’s voice calling her and barked.

Jinki was content to let this all unfold before him, but Jonghyun’s hand had fastened around his wrist, intent on propelling them both forward. Jinki’s feet dragged as he hesitated.

“What are you – ”

“I want you to meet them, Jinki. I want them to get to know you like I do. As the man I love.”

Jinki’s heart was ready to burst. What he had long thought to be dead and gone was now awakening. He met Jonghyun’s eyes with a bashful grin of his own and allowed himself to be led to where Jonghyun’s family stood, waiting for them.

The sky was the most beautiful it had been in years. It was vast and full, the clearest shade of blue, and with not a cloud to be seen, the daylight flooded them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to see any feedback ^^
> 
> Last, but not least, we have a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4jVP5G65XLyII8eIEDgydK).


End file.
